A Sweet Craving
by yellowspotlight89
Summary: Calvin doesn't expect her to melt the very stripes off him, but alas, Yvette Belisle is making a very sticky-sweet mess of his heart. Billy was just the delivery boy, but things get complicated when delivery boys get attached to their shipment. Yvette tried to keep low, but finds herself caught -body and heart- between a good ole Southern tug-o-war... Master & Slave; Love Triangle.
1. Raise your Bets

Django Unchained: A Sweet Craving

A constant tug towards one man, the insistent draw towards the other...

**P****airing:** Love Triangle. Calvin Candie - Yvette - Billy Crash

**Theme:** Romance, Drama, Action.

** Rating:** Teen, but includes Mature Content (Sexual situations, Violence, Language and Racism).

_Full Summary in Profile._

* * *

Chapter 1: Auction Sale**  
**

**_It hurts, but I'm not about to give you up. Though broken, my heart still beats; it will not stop. _**

**_Stop._**

_Get me out of here._

Yvette trembled despite the sultry heat, Mississippi's humidity like a hog's hot breath against her unaccustomed skin. Her legs were too sweat-slickened to press together, but she tried, an attempt to control her trembling. As expected, they only stayed together long enough to part again. They disconnected with a sticky smack.

This Mississippi heat should be a blessing. It didn't blow through her like the crisp Pennsylvania winds had on her travels from there. During the ride through the states of America, still clutching to winter's chill, her teeth had chattered so hard that they'd catch on her tongue. Only envisioning Deep South's heat to warm her chilled bones kept her sane. There, she'd tell herself, the heat would wrap around her in a new alliance. It'd be friendly.

But upon reaching her destination, friendly smacked her in the face.

The South was no friend.

Not its sticky humidity, not it's back-bowing heat.

Not its people.

Sun rays continued to boil the stenches in her pen and Yvette angled her nose toward the bars, breathing through her mouth. The stink trapped her. Feces and piss, some her own, brewed from among the rat waste. The stink arrested everything and she'd swallow repeatedly to avoid vomiting up the cheese and bread a slave auctioneer would fling into her cage on rounds. He would throw toward the ground so Yvette had to dive into her own waste before the food landed in it.

Time was a sluggish thing, and within the pen she had little sense of it. Beside the grotesque stable, a dusky brick wall and the narrow strip of earth was all she had to stare toward. Just observing the light and shadows from ground and wall, she'd watched morning light slip into the yellowing of afternoon, teal evenings into the coal of night.

One would think night of all times would be a comfort. In Pennsylvania, nights were refreshing. She'd often taken walks about the property with her Mama under the cool air.

But the Mississippi night did nothing to sweep away the humidity from day; it rather ignited it, and when it reached the point of night where the auctioneers neglected rounds, Yvette would take off her dress and sprawl across the bench, panting in the way she'd seen dogs do in order to keep cool. Yvette had counted three sunsets and one morning, including that very one, slowly bleeding into an already too-long day.

This was no life, pinned to the pen, hot and hungry and diving for the ground to catch the meal the auctioneer tossed beyond bars. And every day, she'd had to clamp down on her lip in fear she'd beg for water that they'd never give. The crusty bread aggravated her thirst and the cheese left a thick musk on her tongue.

Sometime within the muddled days, if she weren't so much in want of water, she'd probably have screamed. Wept. Instead, she did nothing.

And now, experiencing the rough claw of fate she'd only heard about from Mama but never lived in full herself, Yvette thought she knew how a slave felt.

But if Mama's stories were true, this was just the first lick.

Yvette's legs began their jittery dance again, and the girl swallowed. She feared life at the Belisle Manor would make the rest of her days an abrupt smack she'd never learn to stop flinching from. But how long would "life" even last? Without the useful skills that real slaves had, she doubted anyone could use her in their home. Her education would be a liability now, not helpful. What was she to do, teach her master's children French, help them write their English letters? It sounded bizarre, a black teaching whites.

Maybe if she didn't get sold, the auctioneers would spare her, shoot her on the spot. So she wouldn't die like Mama, daughter at her side and passing away with a smile on her folded apricot brown face, slipped off into a sweet dream. But a quick, semi-painless death if you don't caught the anticipation, might be the next best option.

A nip of sadness bit at Yvette's chest but she pressed it down. Mama died a happy woman. She took care of children who adored her and worked under masters who didn't strike or whip. The scars crisscrossing Mama's back were only faint reminders of her past in the South, working for a horrible man who separated her from her husband, Yvette's father.

But now the Belisle farm was burned down, charred to bits by a group of self-proclaimed law enforcers. They were passing through town and found their way to our farm, no doubt fed rumors of a French-run farm where servants were more like friends, educated like the wealthiest French students, and even its field workers were given pay. Plus, no beatings.

In the dim light of her thoughts Yvette spotted another blessing; Mama had died mere days before that group swept in and cleared the delusional cloud of comfort that real life veiled behind.

Reality always found her way in, no matter how long one was good at hiding from it.

Wiping clammy palms on even sweatier legs, Yvette wondered of a new sharp smell breaking through the regular stink. It took her a few deep whiffs to recognize it; unwashed woman. She had no one to impress but just the fact that she had no access to soap and clean water made her twiddle. All she had left was herself and though she'd done her best to differentiate from the funky pen, now she had a new funk of her own.

Certainly she'd die a stinky, sticky death. A body shot on the road no one would glance twice at.

The stamp of boots lodged her off the bench. Yvette faced the bars; body blocking the waste pile in case someone approached to fling a meal at her again. But that couldn't be it; she'd already been fed today and had the staled throat and cheese taste on her mouth to account for it.

A fat male in tight clothes and a deep-dipping hat came by, stopping before Yvette's pen. Everyone wore funny hats here and if she weren't so scared, she'd have the time to be curious. The man leaned close to the bars.

"Good afternoon, Nigger." A smile that veered into a sneer filled his face. "It's auction time."

There was a crisp jingle of metal as the fat man hunched over the keyhole. The cage creaked wide open but Yvette kept still. Even without shackles, she knew she wasn't free and wouldn't act it.

"Come on out, now." The fat man took a wide step into the cage and dragged her by the wrist. She locked under his grasp, but kept a neutral face. "Time to get you greased so someone might buy your ass, though it looks like the sun been doing the greasing for you. Might just skip that part."

He laughed like he was choking on his own tongue as Yvette was led out through the tight space with her wrist throbbing from the man's grip on it. Down the long thin trail she passed many slave cages, dark skinned men and women crouched on the floors, the whites of their eyes big as she sped by.

Once they escaped out the opening, the fat man shook her free like it was she who was the leech on his arm. The direct sunlight shocked her, like a hot bright blade against her eyes. She stumbled as if to escape it, catching herself on a hard surface. Her heart lumped in her throat. It was a man's chest. She rose up her head to see him looking down at her; he flashed grime-crusted teeth.

"Ain't trying to seduce me now, are ya? Leanin' on my pecker like that?"

Yvette's gasp slipped out like water through a spout. Never had anyone ever..nor had she ever...she tried to wiggle away but the man brought his grip to the back of her neck, his fingers slipping on her sweaty flesh. She remained as still as possible, stared right up at the man with her eyes stretched like tea plates.

"Well I won't fuck a stinking, shitty nigger. But get washed up and my answer might change."

The fat man let out that same tongue-choking laugh again.

Yvette stiffened as the words melted into her mind, now struck with more fears than she'd first thought to encounter. Hard work and pain, she anticipated of her new life. Pleasing men with her body was another territory Mama had never even told her about.

Yvette glanced up at the man, the lustful gleam in his low-snake eyes obvious. She hadn't thought this was possible, a white man attracted to a black female? Well of course. It accounted for all the light colored slaves. And from the tone of her own skin leaning more toward a honey comb than richer chocolate, Yvette supposed there might be some white genes down her line. It was just strange to face that smidgen of truth.

Truth. Reality. It was something she needed to get used to.

"Why waste time getting water on her, John?" The fat man asked. "She already greasy. Won't have to oil her for the auction if we leave her like it is."

The men shared a chuckle and as the John man laughed, his digging nails sent sharp pain through Yvette's flesh.

"Yea, but a buyer gonna ask for they money back if they get a whiff of this stink bitch." John used the hand not clutching Yvette's neck to shield the sun from his eyes, as if reading its height against the sky. "Still, aint much time before it start. I kinda hope you don't get bought today, little nigger. I'd like to test drive you myself before someone else does."

John knocked Yvette away like dust on his collar and she was back in the cage of fat man's hands. He dragged her toward who knows where and Yvette did her best to pick up her feet, expecting all and anything to happen.

* * *

Billy Crash arrived at Johnny and Boys' Auction Site right on time. Potential buyers were just filling the seats and auctioneers handed out bidding signs for the men, fans for their ladies. Billy clicked his tongue at the horse beneath his thighs and the beast clobbered to a stop beside the stables. He half smirked when Johnny himself grabbed his horse's reins. The man leaned against the saddle, smirking up at Billy.

"If it aint Candie's finest work hand come down to my auction."

Biting back on a grimace, Billy hobbled out of the saddle, sliding off the horse.

"Long time no sighting, John."

He shook the auctioneer's hand with a rough twist of his wrist before pulling back, cursing under his breath. _Work hand._

Well, John hadn't lied for it was Billy's position. Regardless, the words left a bitter taste in his mouth. Calvin's lucky ass had a whole plantation to rein and Billy was just one of his whip-yielding workers. Sure, the highest placed one, and Crash was grateful to have the position. Didn't stop him from wanting to be something bigger than just another lollipop at Candieland. Have something of his own.

"I'll get your horse to the stables. Go'on and find a seat in the front. If they're all taken I'll make sure someone clears one up for ya."

Billy tipped his hat and passed the man, hands stuffed in his jeans as he headed toward the shaded area of the auction. A large tent hovered over the seats, suspended by wooden poles. Billy eased under the tent, folding his hat in his hands as he swung into the front seats. There were still unoccupied seats so he took one at the edge of the left row, chin raised toward the stage. The stage was unprotected by the tent and harsh sunlight glinted across the empty surface.

Beyond the stage, Billy saw buyers inspecting merchandise, lifting up jaws to survey teeth and having the slaves twist and bend, likely checking for any scabs or sickness. John must have put away Billy's horse for he was now among the prospective buyers, his hand clutching the back of some young looking slave girl's throat and presenting her to some folks. Billy couldn't make out her features from here, but her dress looked filthy and soaked. A gang of buyers looked interested though, judging from the way they pinched her limbs and laughed at she leapt at their touches.

He didn't want to be here. Didn't even find it necessary. Candieland didn't need another slave, even with that Brunhilde girl gone. But Calvin had insisted, acting as if buying a new one would work like some glue to shut Billy up.

No one died that night.

Calvin had let that fucker Da'jango go with his woman at a side and the white doctor with them.

"What a waste," he murmured to himself, idling petting the gun at his belt.

Billy's teeth slapped together in anger, recounting the night from mere weeks ago. After stomping about the plantation the last couple days, the irritation from how things worked out birthed a chip on his shoulder that wouldn't die. Unable to put his anger of the job undone to rest, he'd finally arranged to speak with Candie.

Candie had twirled a long-necked cigarette between his fingers as he watched Billy from bright eyes, the innocent look on his face catching Billy off-guard. They were about the same age and yet the way Candie handled himself with an almost child's casualness made him seem much younger. Billy wasn't fooled by Candie's looks though; he knew Candie could be just as ruthless as any real man had to be these days. That's why his choice to let Da'jango's party go unscathed bothered him.

Happily ever after for the nigga and his girl?

Not fair.

Billy had sank into the cushioned seat across from Candie, hands clapping against his thighs. Glancing about the gold tinted room, he scanned the bookshelves as if the words he wished to say were scrawled across their spines.

Candie followed Billy's gaze, pursing his lips across his cigarette. He crossed his leg across his lap, making even his stiff-collared burgundy suit set look loose and informal.

"I'm a bit tired, Ole Billy," He'd said, smoke whispering from between pursed lips. "So let's just spread this Django business on the table. I know it's what been making you even more of a Dawnie Downer lately."

Billy's glanced at Calvin, then looked away quickly.

"I just don't understand why you let them go so easily. Awfully generous of you."

Calvin made a look of mock-shock, mouth forming a circle across his cigarette.

"Known you since we was little boys and you don't know by now? I am an awfully generous person."

Billy hid the urge to snort with a chuckle, shaking his head.

"You even said yourself that they was a big waste of time and you hate how they led you around in circles like a show horse. It makes no sense to me why you'd let them go alive."

"If it doesn't make sense to you now, Billy, it might never."

Billy's fists burrowed into the cushion beneath him, but Calvin had seemed to catch the movement, a dark brow cocked.

"What is it about you and them, huh? You mad we loss one little slave, wasn't worth shit? Don't you forget I got $12,000 from the deal and still kept Eskimo Joe. That's more than enough for me. Schultz and his niggas actually did me a _favor_."

Billy ground his teeth. Rage hit like bullets popping against a chest, fists digging into his palms to do all he could but leap across the room and lock his hands around Calvin's throat. This was an isolated plantation. Yards of land. If they'd killed the intruders, Calvin could have had his 12,000 plus what else lay in Dr. Shultz's pockets. But this argument was as dried out as a smoked piece of meat. Calvin had a weakness, soft spots in his heart that strove to do the right thing. He could flip out like that and whip the hell out of a slave while other times he was petting them on the head like his little cherubs. It was maddening to watch.

"I just can't see it as optimistically as you," Billy managed out.

Calvin studied the wall behind Billy's head, the sharp scent of tobacco tickling Billy's nostrils. He stared at his blue-eyed, partially bearded superior. The pretty boy charm baffled him. Billy didn't know whether he wanted to slap him or to be him. Finally, Calvin met Billy's eyes.

"I know you're upset and gonna stay upset by my choice, but I'll make it up to you. Go on and get us another piece at the next auction. Maybe that'll help fill the void our _beloved _Brunhilde left in you."

Calvin rose from his chair, patting Billy on the shoulder as he passed to the door.

Billy remained seated. He hadn't heard the door close behind him so he knew Calvin hadn't left, was merely waiting for Billy's response. When he wouldn't give in to answer, he heard Calvin shuffle, closing in right at his ear.

The cigarette smoke fanned Billy Crash's face and his eyelashes begged to blink, burned fiercely at the sting.

"When you get this slave, Billy, you best make it worth my while."

A grisly voice cut through Billy's reverie.

He glanced up at the stage at one of Johny's boys starting the auction. A plump fellow.

"Hey there all. Welcome to Johnny and Boys' Auction Site. Seems several of you had inspected the merchandise before the show and are just bursting to place your bets, but as you know, aint no private sales." Fat Boy wagged his finger toward particular gentlemen in the audience, who dusted their moustaches and chuckled along with the audience.

"But its hot today and we want everyone to get on home to the shade, so let's start."

Billy shifted in his chair, noticing someone had placed a bidding sign on his lap sometime between when he'd arrived from when he drifted off. He palmed it, feeling its fluent weight in his hands. So easy it was, to buy a human body. You just needed some dollars and a wooden sign and they'd be yours.

The auction started immediately, revealed black body after body, sometimes whole families but more often lone men, women, and children. As Billy watched one buyer take a man and woman but leave their two scrawny children, he fought back a yawn. Nothing caught his eye so far. He feared he'd come back to Candieland empty-handed with Calvin's mouth to hear about it.

He pictured Calvin now, barking about how much Billy had wanted a new slave and yet didn't bring anything back. No amount of denying that Billy had actually never suggested a replacement would shut Calvin up about it either. If Crash didn't find something good, Calvin would never hear him on anything he had to say again. He was strange like that. Unstable.

"This next one I'm about to bring out got an interesting story," Fat Man began after selling a hollow looking black man.

"Number 25, from the North. They says the owners were real nigger-lovers and the you- know-whoms took care of them real nice, divvied up their people. You know how those northern are, don't know how to wield the whip real good in the first place, but this one aint got no marks or calluses. Real soft skin. French bastards must have treated her finer than a china doll."

_French?_

Billy straightened in his chair. The past owners of this girl was French. Calvin loved all things Francais.

"You bring her out, John."

Drums rolled as John shuffled up the stage stairs, a slave girl under the grip of his neck. She staggered, her dusty bare feet clapping against the stage. John released her neck and she flinched away from him, then visibly stiffened. John snatched up her hand.

"Damn, see here. This nigger's hands softer than a clean shaven ass. Don't know what the French was doing up there with this weak girl."

The people laughed and focused in on the girl, many of the men leaning forward in their seats.

Billy was one of the many appraising man, chin in his hand. The girl wore a smeared-up dress and her slight body looked struck with sudden weight loss. It was obvious she wasn't used to starving though; her thin thighs had shape to them, waist nipped and flaring neatly.

_Hmm._

Billy shook his head, dismissing the angle of his thoughts.

He moved up to the face.

Huh.

Attractive there, too. Small uppy nose, big flashing eyes, skin on the maple golden side. Already she was a good fit for Calvin who liked to fill the big house with the pretty slaves and shove the uglier ones in the field. Brunhilde worked as a man-pleaser. Maybe this one could too...

John raised his and the girl's intertwining hands, looking out at the audience.

"Now I'll have to keep this one for myself if no one buy her. Pretty useless if you ask me 'cept be on her back. Too soft palms, no experience in field work, but perhaps she can cook. Can you cook, girl?"

The slave girl's lips parted, but she didn't say anything.

"Come on now, don't tells me you mute. Let us hear your skills. How we supposed to sell you if you don't tell what you're worth?"

After a moment, the girl tried again, stuttering a little before any sense came out of her.

"I can cook." She said. She had a strange accent. Level-toned, not like a curling southern twang.

John bent at the knees to inspect her from the side, sending the girl swaying under his weight. She was obviously unbalanced, underfed.

"See there, ya'll. She can cook. Maybe not so useless, after all. What else you got, no. 25?"

The girl bit her lip, thinking hard, before she spoke again.

"I'll clean too. And speak French."

The crowd murmured, twisted looks on their faces as they pointed and chattered. The girl definitely had Billy's attention now and he stared up at the stage, wondering if she was bluffing or not. Calvin couldn't speak French but he liked to hear it as long as no one spoke directly to him.

Nice looks. Un-lashed or bruised. Speaks French. Number 25 was becoming a worthier buy with the second.

Billy's hand had clutched around his bidding sign just when John aimed a finger over his head.

"Got one bet out there! We'll start low cuz she aint much."

"I'll pay one thousand," That someone called out. Billy turned in his chair, noting a man with a floppy hat shadowing his face.

John began the betting chat, a confusing twirl of words intermixed with digits and going once, going twice warnings.

Billy raised his bidding post and from there the numbers just kept climbing. He lifted his bidding post occasionally and hardly looked at the girl on stage, not wanting to show too much interest in the buy. The price climbed but the will of the battling men didn't. Billy was growing tense, the sweat building at his hairline. Calvin didn't give him much for this auction, just enough to snag a decent buy.

"Three thousand, Three thousand and a half, Three-fifty…"

Damn that John. Why was he egging the price higher? Didn't he say the girl wasn't much? Billy reached into his back pocket, checking over his shoulders before peaking into the pocket to check how much he had.

Ironic bastard; Calvin had given Crash exactly 12,000 dollars. He wouldn't be surprised if they were the same billfolds from Dr. Schultz.

Most of the bidders dropped out of the bid but two persistent ones battled back and forth, their signs poking up and interrupting John's constant word spew.

"Six thousand, can I get six-thousand fifty- thank you, six-thousand fifty for this French-speaking nigger girl. No one? Six-thousand fifty going once, twice-"

Billy raised his post, earning a look from the bidding man just down the row from him. He tipped his head at Billy and raised his post.

"Six thousand and going going…"

The bidder from the back raised his sign and now the number was at seven thousand. Billy slapped his sign against his thigh, knowing anymore efforts on his part would just heighten the price. And the price kept going, rising past seven...past eight...and finally past twelve thousand. Billy had a vile taste in his mouth, having been so close to what would have been the perfect slave for the strange operations of Candieland. Not just another pretty brown face to dot the Cleopatra club, but a French-speaking one.

The girl was sold at fifteen thousand and carted down to the man in back with the floppy hat. Billy ground his jaw together, arms crossed and ready for the auction to end. Nothing else that came by interested him, and when there was no more merchandise to sell for the day, he flipped out of his chair, moving rigid and fast down the aisle.

A hand on his shoulder made him pause.

"Where you going so fast, Candie man?"

Billy turned, smirking at John though all he wanted to do was swipe the hand off his shoulder.

"Just got other things to do, is all. Work on the plantation."

"What kind of work you got to rush to do that a nigger can't?"

"Well, keeping the niggers doing their job, John. Should I leave them in charge of that themselves?"

John held his stomach, chuckling. After gaining composure, he cocked his chin.

"Seems Gentleman Gregory snatched up the purchase you were going for."

Billy shrugged, going for casual, thought it felt stiff.

"Not a big deal. We just wanted an extra piece of taffy at Candieland. You know how Monsieur Candie collects all things French."

John nodded, arms crossed. Then, giving a brief sweep of the surroundings, he led Billy away from the seats and near the side of the tent.

Billy's brow folded.

"What you want?" He asked, bending toward the man.

John did another glance around.

"Well, I ain't legally supposed to suggest such a thing, but I like Calvin." He leaned in closer, right to his ear. "If I were you, I'd hand Gentleman Gregory all you have on you to buy that girl from him. That way he got a little money back and you could always match it later."

Billy thought on this, taking chin in his hands. The idea was an interesting one. And when he got to imagining Calvin's irritated face when he came back with nothing, a _real_ interesting one.

Shaking John's hand sharply, Billy wasted no time heading toward the man detaining _his _buy, hat back on his head and smoothness in his strike.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

Hi!

I hope you enjoyed this first chapter. I've been doing research on this time period to try and be as historically accurate as possible as I engage in this world, but if you notice any facts that aren't correct or consistent, feel free to tell me.

Also I'd definitely like to hear how you feel about the fic so far. The movie is so new and brilliant and I feel that much more obliged to do a good job of this.

Rating:

While this story is **T**, please note this means mature-minded teens and up. There is racism as well as descriptions of sex and sexual acts as well as some future violence. I don't want to pin this as M because M themes don't make up the gist of the story at all; it's more like those bits are interwoven within a thicker fabric of romance and drama.

So DO remember there will be racism and the talk that goes with it, some violence, and sexual implications as well as sexual acts.


	2. Not for Resale

Chapter 2: Not for Resale

_**Watching puddles gather rain, There's no better place to lay. She's as fine as dandelions blowing in the wind. She's not thinking, she's listening.** _

* * *

Submission is a sharp medicine to swallow when your limbs ache to fight. With the capturer's narrow cut for a face is only a few inches beyond your shoulder, so close his breath grazes your hairline, it takes a lot of grinding of the teeth not to break his hold on you. One snap of the elbow, up and to the right, and Yvette could've crushed the upturned nose of her Master's little face.

A faint quirk of the lips and she was picturing it.

Her now owner led her to a horse-drawn wagon, Yvette's new pen waiting at the back. But now, in her mind's eye, she jerked that arm and crushed that nose. His arm would fly up to cradle the bursting nostrils, and by doing so he'd free Yvette from the shackling grip on her shoulders.

_I'm sick of cages_, she'd think and dash through the bewildered crowds, darting by the grimy pens that she'd boiled under for days. As she rushed into the neighboring trees, the auctioneers would shout, waddling in their boots to keep up, snapping bullets in her direction and missing by landslides.

Yvette knew she was fast. Years of chasing the Belisle kids across the endless property assured her a good running career. With her mother too old to chase after anyone, it'd become Yvette's job at an early age. The Belisle children were fidgety ones, never sat still. Yvette would turn her head for just a few seconds before little Adelia and Belden would dive out toward the cornfields where they were strictly forbidden to go, Yvette hot on their tails and capturing up the kids before they could ever shout "snake in my shoe!"

It's why Yvette was so confident that if she ran, no one could touch her.

After leading her pursuers through the forest all afternoon, she'd finally wait for the stragglers in a shadowy area, her body folded behind a tree truck and breathing soft and even as if she'd merely taken a light jog. The men would stop to catch their breaths, only inches from Yvette and never knowing, huffing and panting with their fists in their knees.

"That little nigger fast," The man John might say.

"She too quick for us." The fat one would supply so weakly that Yvette would wonder if he really was choking on his tongue now, such as it sounded when he laughed.

"Sure am too quick for you two," she'd say from her hiding spot.

The men would pull up their wits, shuffling about the forest with guns swirling about.

"Where you at, girl? We aint playing now."

"Yeah, come on out!"

"Over here, Mr. Auctioneer sirs!" Yvette would call, voice sweet as the over sugared tea she'd heard Southerners loved to drink.

They'd follow her voice to the tree she tucked behind and just when they thought they had her, rifles high and triggers clutched, she'd duck under the men's knees and hurl them off their feet.

_Much too quick for you_, she'd think, crushing her foot against their tangled hands to loosen the guns from his grip.

After yanking their rifles free, she'd stare down at the coughing men, too winded from all the running and sudden fall to even fight.

"Won't have to worry about fucking this stinking, shitty nigger now, John. The only thing you'll be fucking in this gun barrel. Hope you can take it in the—"

_Pop_. She'd shoot both the men in the asshole, then pat down their pockets for money as they wailed in pain. After finishing them off, she'd escape through the forest, cash on her person and hot guns in hand. A defenseless, broken in slave? Ha. Never.

Even knowing the cards of fate would never drop in such a pleasing favor, it didn't stop Yvette from dreaming. She'd always been like that, chin stuffed in her hands as she stared off at the horizon. But instead of seeing flat sky and clouds, she'd take off to the faraway worlds sailing through her head. Adventures across sandy plains on horseback, beautiful gowns that flowed past the ankles, a man who'd capture his heart in his hands, spin her across a ballroom; kiss the breath out of her.

Yvette called herself a dreamer. Mama had just called her spacey.

Yvette blamed Maria. She was the Belisle's oldest daughter and just three years older than Yvette. Maria loved to talk and Yvette was the lucky contestant for her gabber, being the only house slave girl closest to her age. Growing up, Maria would bring home tales from town of all the people who admired her French accent. Yvette would giggle when Maria told how the boys hung off every French word she'd toss their way, even though she was only calling them fat booger heads and horse dung. After that, Yvette would daydream of her own gang of admirers, boys asking her to say words in French and grinning at the way they lapped at her words like dogs to meaty bones, dumbstruck and bright eyed.

As Maria and Yvette grew, so did their dreams. The only difference was that Maria actually had a chance of touching hers. When Maria walked down the street, she was a free woman. Signs blaring NO NIGGERS couldn't keep her out the best restaurants and shops, for her pale skin was automatic admittance. Yvette's skin, however, was a built in barricade that kept her from exploring the girlish heart that swooned for boys, pretty things, and freedom that Maria helped nurture.

Maria reached her dreams. The lover to kiss her breathless, the man who spun her at dances and dined with her at fancy restaurants.

Maria had sailed off onto her cloud nine while Yvette was left on the ground with children to watch over and furniture to dust.

But this was no longer true. All the members of the Belisle family were shot down on their own dirt. The attackers were swift handed and spared no mercy to the nigger-loving Frenchies who gave America a bad name. They'd lined up the Belisle family, knees in the mud, hands behind backs, barrels pointed at their sweet, kind heads…Yvette counted rather than witnessed the seven gun pops into the heads of the remaining Belisle family members: her masters Mr. and Mrs. Belisle, Maria and her husband, Little Adelia and Belden, even the family cat.

Yvette's heart gave an agitated thump from her chest.

_They just killed them like that and would have killed us slaves too if they couldn't make a profit off selling us. So that's what leads me here. Alive. _

_Sold. _

Yvette wondered if life was any better than death what with the fate awaiting her. The drawn out fantasy of escape helped loosen the urge to actually reenact one for she knew there'd be no running. Even her quick feet couldn't dodge a bullet for too long. Say she did evade the men and came face to face with them? Attending to the children hadn't made her strong enough to suddenly overtake two grown men.

And say she could overtake them by some impossible means; where would she go from there?

In foreign landscape under a merciless sun, death would catch her soles faster than any slave work could manage. Gentleman Gregory stuffed Yvette into a barred cage on the back of his wagon. The metal doors clanged as he snapped the lock in place. Sunlight grated through the bars and her eyes narrowed at the light just as his long legs blocked out the blaze.

He bent close to the bars, the duckbill-shaped hat carving shadows under his eyes. He stared at her long and hard, a grim set to his thin lips.

Yvette stared back at him with her fists in her dress, her expression plain. He wanted a reaction, maybe a nervous tremble in her features or even a sweet slather of words for her all mighty Master. She wouldn't give it.

Before the auction had begun, Yvette had watched many slave families selling _themselves_ to potential buyers. It'd seemed the oddest thing until she realized that these slaves deliberately tried to appeal to men who looked like gentler hands, ignoring the glaring fellows who distastefully eyed their skin in favor of the ones with more businesslike appraisals.

"Masta, me and me's wife is some hard working folk. I'm a real good carpenter, I is. And Mini, curtsy fo' Masta, Mini. See, Mini here snatch cotton like no other slave business. Aint that right Mini?"

Mini had looked at the buyer with a wide smile on her face that made Yvette want to scream.

_This is not right!_ She wanted to cry. First shaking the woman and then the damned slave buyer. _Pick your own damn cotton or pay us for doing it. But of course none of you sunburned chicken necks would flick a dime toward any black person's lap._

"Smile big." Gentleman Gregory said.

Yvette slid out from her thoughts and did as he said, eyes questioning. The Gentleman stared at her, silent for a while.

"You show aint ugly," He said, chin inclined. "Skin not too dark. Teeth right."

_Not too dark? How is that a quality of a non-ugly person?_

"The sun isn't as strong in Pennsylvania," she explained, a smile still wide on her face. "Plus there's a development up north that apparently isn't so popular here. It's called toothpaste."

She almost regretted saying it, but it needed to come out. If she didn't get out that jab now, she would explode from the ignorant things he'd say later. Now she'd be fine holding her tongue knowing she'd said something at least once.

Gregory cackled, flashed a row of discolored teeth. If Yvette's teeth were pearly whites, this man had stony yellows. After recovering from the laugh, his face melded into a hard, mean mask. He leaned so close to the bars that the metal dug into his flesh. Yvette held her breath, shifted back.

"How about we wrench out your pretty teeth and makes me a new set, huh. Matter fact, we gonna head to the doctors right now. After he yanks out all your teeth I'll have him nip off that quick talking tongue of yours too. See if you speak much French after that, little-"

"Gentleman Gregory, a word with ya?"

The Gentleman paused, hesitantly before he pulled back the bars. He stepped back to address a man who now stood beside the wagon. He made a dull sound in the throat.

"A word, huh. 'Bout what?"

Yvette released the breath that'd been wound up in her belly. She was glad for the interruption and used the time to think of a way to avoid getting her mouth mangled up. She really hoped this gentleman threw out meaningless threats, but there was such seriousness in his face that he might actually do it. Mama had told her about tongue nipping and she assured Yvette that looks would the last thing on any slave's mind after they snipped a good piece of your tongue.

_I'll just apologize like a desperate fool. Probably can't play stupid now, he knows I knew what I was saying... but if he thinks I'm _so_ 'not-ugly' then maybe I'll work and look pitiful and…_

"This gal you just won from the auction. I'd like to buy her."

_What?_

Wide-eyed, Yvette scooted her behind to the edge of her cage. From her angle she could only catch the edge of this visiting man's unshaven jaw. A slender form in jeans with a gun stuffed at his waist belt. The man shuffled back and forth, arms crossed over his chest.

A smile cracked across the Gentleman's face.

"You must be one of the bidders up front, fighting with me."

"That's right." The other man wore a half smirk, already reaching for his wallet and sorting through billfolds. "Let's see here, I got…"

The Gentleman raised his palms, shook his head.

"You can save the trouble of counting out anything. I aint selling what I just bought. 'Specially to some man I don't know."

"So sorry, Gentleman. How rude of me not to introduce myself," The smile on the man's face was hard, teeth too clenched for it to be genuine. "Billy Crash, from Candieland plantation."

No longer was the Gentleman slouched with a foot tapping the dirt. He rose on his toes, posture alert and loosened.

"You don't say. Employed on the third biggest plantation in all Mississippi? Well how _do_ you do."

They shook hands now like old pals, and Yvette's eyes rolled up in her sockets. The grand announcement of this Candieland being the third biggest plantation reminded her of a game slave boys at Belisle used to play, where they compared their pecker sizes and made whoever could get theirs bigger field king of the day. Apparently, this match made this _Billy Crash_ king.

"See, at Candieland we looking for someone to replace a nigger girl that uh, aint with us anymore. And no. 25 the right fit. It'd be real nice if we could have her at the place."

The Gentleman went to fingering his back pockets.

"I hear what you're saying now, Bill Crash, but there's not much I can do. I filled out the paperwork and she fully in my name. You should have bet more in the first place if it meant that much to ya'll at Candieland."

"But here's the funny thing…"

The Billy Crash man explained himself while Gentleman Gregory listened closely, nodding hard at Billy's words. Yvette's breath had gone quick and deep and it wasn't from the humidity; sensations bubbled in her chest that she couldn't explain. Was this foolish emotion hope? She knew nothing about this Billy or his Candieland. All plantations in the south were the same; you screw up and you were punished.

While she didn't know what the Gentleman's intentions were except to poke around with her mouth, Billy had mentioned taking over some other slave's position. What position could she fill with her soft hands? She knew how to cook and clean, but it was never her main job at the Belisle farm; taking care of the children was and in her nerves on the auction stage under the sun's glare and John's slimy grip on her hand she'd forgotten to mention that. Yvette wasn't fit in the field and both men must have known this too.

John's words came to mind, what he'd said about Yvette only good for her back. Swallowing, she worked her gaze back up to Billy Crash, then averted her eyes when both men turned to her cage; she faked interest in her lap and hummed a little, acting as if she hadn't the slightest care for where she ended up. Gentleman Gregory leaned his narrow face to the bars again. This time he reached a finger through to tickle the edge of Yvette's chin.

"I was just getting to know you, Pretty Mouth, and some other man already taking you away. Aint it a shame."

Mental grunted as the door swung open, blowing in dust. The Gentleman seized her by the collar and jerked her out the cage and to her feet. The sudden movement dizzied her head, heat and dehydration doing all it could to add to her instability. Gentleman Gregory leaned close to her, skinny nose bumping into her smaller peak.

"Tell Calvin I said hello."

Foul breath coated her face as he grinned then turned away. New hands held her now, Billy Crash. He gripped her waist sternly, but not brutally. Yvette watched as he fussed with his wallet, emptying the money into the Gentleman's hands. Yvette followed with her eyes, muttering the numbers to herself. One, two…six…twelve bills.

"I'll be sendin' the difference your way," Billy Crash said, tipping his hat.

"Nah, nah," The Gentleman dug in his front pocket and pulled out a roll of papers. Yvette recognized them as the bill of sale and ownership the Gentleman had filled out after purchasing her. "The Candies had loaned me money when I first kick start my plantation I aint even thought to pay back yet. The extra I'm not getting about equals what I owe him anyway."

Billy Crash chewed his lip, replacing his wallet. "Fine with me."

The hand on Yvette's waist tightened around her form as finally, Billy Crash looked down at her. Even under the hat, she saw his eyes were bright and energetic, built close. Tight pink lips curled into the smallest of smiles. It was the smile Little Belden Belisle had worn often, usually after he weaseled out of trouble. Yvette's brows rose.

What sort of trouble might this Billy Crash have slipped from by buying her? And who in the world was Calvin?

She would bet the $12,000 just spent on her to know.


	3. Riding Off

**Chapter 3: Riding Off**

_I never wanna hurt you baby, I'm just a mess with a name and a price, and now I'm drunker than before, they told me drinking doesn't make me nice._

* * *

Free from one to be bought by another.

At least this man wasn't as rough as the Gentleman. Billy Crash nudged Yvette through the crowds, a hand pressed at her waist. Restraining, but not bruising. His hard steps brought up dust that licked across his booted feet and her bare ones. She scuffled alongside him, trying to keep up, vision a blur. Sweat dripped from a curl of her hair and into her eye and she wiped it away with her hand. A winded breath slipped out.

Billy glanced down at her and the hurried steps slowed. Yvette let a faint smile touch her lips. His actions meant nothing, but at least she could actually keep up. She looked around the place she was leaving behind.

Further down the auction site the fat auctioneer herded a line of blacks in the direction of the pens. Their chained limbs jingled as they shuffled under the pounding sunlight, greasy from sweat and the polish the auctioneers placed on the slaves to give the appearance of health. Each chained slave dragged his feet across the dirt, all except two black children. The children broke formation, wailing out with their palms stretched out in Yvette's direction.

_Me?_ She thought, but then she glanced behind her.

A couple slumped at the back of a wagon, their wrists shackled. They stared right back at the children, cheeks lined with the crust of fallen tears. Yvette put it together quickly: parents sold, kids not.

A cracking sound hit her ears. The children's screams stretched so high that their cries hit the trees, birds cawing out in response. Yvette twisted around as the fat auctioneer crouched down to screech in the kid's faces, slashing the whip across their bare arms and legs. Their brown bodies curled to the ground as the whip cracked down again and again, they cried out—

"Do you really want to see that?" Billy Crash said.

Yvette glared at the scene before her, rage a bloated fist in her gut. She forced her head to shake but was unable to turn away.

"Then stop staring and keep walking." Billy's fingers into her side were harsh, snapping her back in motion. She kept her chin stiff, doing all she could to clot out the sound of the screams and instead listened to the chatter. Southern ladies laughs and giggled with their men, carrying on as if nothing was happening.

Yvette and Billy reached the horse stables, stopping by a sandy colored horse. A stable hand handed the reins over to Billy. He released Yvette, giving her a look that said _you'd be stupid to run. _Her look in return was _no duh. _Yvette followed alongside him and soon they reemerged into the sunlight.

"Ole Bill!"

The auctioneer John was heading toward them, his steps eating up ground fast.

"What the damned fuck now," Billy muttered.

John stopped in front of Billy, his eyes set on Yvette. Something long and thick hung from his hands.

"I see my plan worked," John said.

"Yep. Just gonna head back to Candieland now."

Billy dragged the horse's reins south. Flat land stretched on like a lake, tree groves for islands hovering in the distance.

"That's why I came over here. I noticed you forgot a wagon to keep your purchase in."

"Oh, that's right," Billy said, snapping his fingers.

Yvette had taken to leaning against the horse's middle, too exhausted to stand upright, but watched the men's exchange closely.

"She more tired than a dying dog. Couldn't escape if she wanted."

John glared over's Billy shoulder, giving Yvette an intense look. She cocked an eyebrow at him but bit down on her urge to say something defensive...or stupid.

"You always gotta take precautions, Billy. That's why I brought this here rope. You just tie her to the horse and she'll walk on beside you. Aint like that nigger can ride up there with you on the horse."

Billy glanced back at Yvette. His lips twitched up into a half smile that flittered away just as quickly before he turned back to John.

"That's exactly what is gonna happen."

John snickered.

"Yeah, right!"

"Yeah, that is right."

John doubled over, slapping his knees and eyes tight with the force of his laughter.

Billy shook his head, shrugging as he turned back to Yvette.

She looked at him, arms crossing over her chest.

_He wouldn't_, she thought.

But he did. In one sweep he had her by the waist, the next lowered into the saddle. Billy threw himself onto the horse's back right after. Nudging back the saddle so that it was more to the rear, he straddled the front of the beast.

"You need the saddle more than I ever would," He said. _Yaw! _

The beast responded to the shout with a lift of its sandy muzzle and broke into a trot. Yvette yelped. Her fingers clutched the sides of the saddle, not sure how else to keep from falling. The horse gained speed and she swayed with each of its movements, her breath hitching with each bounce.

Yvette glanced back at the auction site. John wasn't laughing, mouth dropped as he watched them ride away. A smile formed to Yvette's lips as red crawled over the man's angry face.

"Are ya'll crazy?" He bellowed, but he was just a gray smear in the distance now, his belly bouncing as he stomped the ground and waved his fists.

As the horse bumped along Yvette looked away to focus on staying in the saddle.

"You're gonna land on your head if you don't hold onto me," Billy said.

Yvette hesitated. She knew being on this horse was illegal, but she'd creep into a whole other dangerous territory to actually lay her fingers on him.

"I won't tell you again," Billy warned.

With a long breath, she crossed her wrists around Billy's waist. Her fingers spread out around her as to avoid touching him as much as possible. If anyone passed them and saw it, they'd be as awestruck and outraged as John was. Would they call the sheriff? Well, she was too weakened by the sun and thirst to rely on her hold on the saddle. This would have to do.

Still, she was beginning to wonder if there were some loose bolts rummaging around in Billy's head, letting her up here.

"Why didn't you take the rope?" She asked him. She had to know, even if it weren't her place.

Billy snorted.

"We twenty miles out. Candieland is way far for anyone be dragging alongside a horse. Too hot for that shit."

Yvette nodded.

"Makes sense."

So this man decided to ignore conventions in the sake of sanity. One point for him and Candieland so far.

The horse hit a hard bump in the ground that jerked their bodies in the air. Yvette's fingers latched down onto Billy's chest on instinct. He groaned at the sudden touch.

"That's right," he muttered. "Don't want your ass falling off before we even reach the place."

The horse's hooves lashed up the dust, wind carrying it into Yvette's face. She held her head down at the assault and her dark curls lashed against her cheeks and forehead. The harsh wind made her throat ache with dryness. It seemed to strip her of all the meager nourishment of the last couple days.

"I suppose I can't call you 25." Billy said, after a while of riding. "What's your name?"

"Yvette."

Faint headed and tired, she clasped her hands even tighter around him. She even got bold enough to lay her head on his back.

_Must be more tired than I thought to lean on this white man like this. _

Billy's voice came out rougher.

"You really speak French, Yvette? Better not have been lying."

She answered with a nod that he must've felt through his shirt.

"Alright. Then say 'time for lunch.'"

She didn't even have to think.

"_Heures du déjeuner_."

"Well that one was easy. How about 'it's hot.'"

"_Il fait chaud_."

Billy's lips smacked together. He was quiet for a moment, then uttered out another phrase in French. One that made Yvette snap her head from his back and stare at the back of his head as if antlers had grown out of it.

"Did you understand me?" Billy said.

"Yeah, but…"

"Then translate."

Yvette bit her lip. She cleared her throat, then answered.

"You said, 'The way you clutching to me gives me a hard one.'"

The corner of Billy's lip twitched.

"Hell, you don't lie."

_Oh, boy. _She unwound her hands from his waist.

"Don't worry gal, I won't bite you."

Carefully, Yvette brought her arms back around him.

_I'm not going to bust my head because of that. A 'hard one' is his problem, not mine._

Trees began to pull up from both sides, the dusty earth transforming into grass. A gate lay ahead and the horse plummeted toward it.

"Shit," Billy said. "Gregory didn't hand me those papers."

Yvette's heart lurched.

"Then that means…he still owns me?"

"Well, he got my money. Maybe the paperwork won't matter." His voice wavered a little. Obviously it did matter, especially if he cursed about it.

Yvette's hold loosened on Billy's waist as she wobbled.

"Don't go faintin', now. We almost to the big house."

As they went through a set of gates, The dry road became a path of soil, cabins sprouting all around. A field of tall green stocks with pale roots rose at their sides.

_Sugarcanes._ Yvette thought. _Sugarcanes on the Candieland plantation. I'm seeing the wit here. _

Like dark dots within a sea of green, faces peered from among the stocks. They stopped their work to stare at the two of them ride by. Yvette ducked her head as they began to point and whisper amongst themselves. She didn't want to be the field gossip without at least doing something stupid first. Well, riding on this horse was stupid, but she had no choice in that.

They punched past another gate. Billy loosened the horse's reins and its steps became heavier smaller clots. A white house stood against the harsh blue sky. Yvette's breath caught as they approached, finally resting to a stop at the stairs. Thick columns supported a grand structure. Deep green shutters beside the vertical windows. A balcony ran across the top floor. The Belisle manner was a cozy, humble-sized home. But this…

This was not humble.

Yvette sat there, leaning over Billy's shoulder to stare at the house.

"Just taking it all in?" Billy asked.

"Yeah. Think I need a day in a half," she muttered.

Something pricked at her. A sharp sensation against the top of her head. Someone watched her from the house. She looked up, searching, and saw a man on the balcony.

He was black, gray bushy brows in sharp contrast with his skin.

"What the hell is this?"

His head twitched across his shoulders in a spasm. Yvette wondered if he was possessed.

"Doomsday must be upon us cuz this the second time in one month I seen a nigger on a nag. Oh, my lungs gonna pop!"

Even from the distance she saw how wide his eyes were, whites white as ice cream offset by his dark pupils. Fury. Shock. Anger.

"Crash, who this nigga here? Calvin didn't tell me bout bringin in no niggas. We got enough on this damn land mulling around, being useless."

Billy shifted off the horse.

"You just tell Calvin I'm back."

"You can bet your ass I'm gonna tell him somethin." He pointed a shaky finger at Yvette. "You! Don't you dare step your dusty ass feet into this house. Floor and all gonna need be burned. Calvin. _Calvin_!"

The man disappeared into the house, his bark echoing behind him.

Yvette flattened her hands against the saddle to catch herself from falling.

_I must be more dehydrated than I thought. This is not happening. _

She'd seen blacks lick the underside of his master's shoe and say he liked it, but that man was a whole different force. With as much devotion she'd seen black man kiss up to whites, he seemed to despise her, the "nigger on the nag." Was he so blind not to see that he was a "nigger" too?

Not wanting to wait for the man to make his way downstairs and stab her to death with his mean stare, she lifted her leg over the horse and dropped off. Billy brought out a hand to steady her. A black man yelling at her and the white one helping her?

A headache was in sight. This had to be the strangest plantation in America.

_Maybe they should rename this Candieland to Faerieland._

"Let's go," Billy said, already setting off toward the house as he hollered out a name. Yvette followed unsteadily, using a column for support when she reached the top of the stairs. Her eyes flickered closed, black spots playing behind her eyelids. From her vision she watched Billy go inside the house. She slipped down the edge of the column, her head dropping down to her chest.

Soon enough approaching steps startled her eyes open. Yvette tried to rise up on her legs but sitting felt so much easier. The shade covered her from here, the most coolness she'd experienced in a while.

"Bonjour…oh my!"

From the spots of her vision, she made out a young woman. She wore a skirt that billowed out too far for her arms to rest at her sides and she fluttered rather than walked to Yvette's side, face dropping close.

"Is something the matter?" the girl asked, voice nervous. There was a large ribbon plopped on top of her head.

"That's a really big bow," Yvette said before her eyes closed and she drifted away.

* * *

"I have a theory," Calvin said to the open page. "If Ole Ben was still here, this house would be a lot quieter place."

Calvin continued to work, scratching out figures for the past month with Stephen's bellowing in the background. As usual. Ole Ben brought order to Candie Manor. He had a quiet composure, a simple slave with a calm voice that made all the rest want to do their jobs without a moan or complaint. Hell, white folks even got real polite and quiet when he was around.

Maybe it wasn't too late to patch up that scull he'd smashed up and revive the dead nigger. Stephen was the flip side of the silver coin. Loud and quick talkin' with a mean mug that made grown white men shit their pants. He was Calvin's pet. Mean as a scraggly cat but loyal as a dog.

The door to the study burst open and Calvin didn't bother glancing up, just adjusted the reading glasses on the bridge of his nose and kept on with his figures.

"Testing out those lungs today, Stephen?" he said, feeling the pressure of an eye twitch.

Stephen sucked in a breath.

"Suh, why didn't no one warn me bout a new nigga comin to this house?"

Calvin placed his reading glasses on the desk. Stephen had managed to thoroughly distract him and he couldn't focus until he got rid of the black booger.

"You are mistaken. There's no new nigger at Candieland. I was just bluffin' when I send Billy to the auction. I know he wasn't gonna bring nothin worth my while."

Stephen shuffled over to Calvin's desk, slapping his hands on the chocolate wood.

"Excuse me sayin, but that's where you wrong. Just now Crash come ridin in on a nag with a nigger girl leaning up on him like she his lova. I seen it from the big whites of my eyes and you know these whites isn't wrong."

Calvin didn't have the heart to tell Stephen that the whites of the eyes don't see, it was the pupil, and those were the brown just like any nigger. But what Stephen was saying had really got his attention.

He stood abruptly and a styled layer of his dim blond locks flopped into his eye. Calvin moved to swipe it away but Stephen was quick, his shaky hands combing and fixing Calvin's hair like an ole mother to his child on picture day.

"'Nough of that Stephen," He batted the crusty hands away. "Now you sure it was a slave?"

"Suh, it was a _nigga _gal. Of course it was a slave! Show wasn't no Brunhilde come riding up askin' for forgiveness."

Huh. So Billy had really found them a new nigga. Calvin had only sent him down there to prove a point; when Billy came back empty-handed it'd make clear just who held the reins on this stallion.

But somehow Crash accomplished the task. _Well, least half of it. Still hasta prove this buy was worth my while._

Billy slid into his office then, grim mouthed. Calvin watched him carefully and could see the smile creasing the corners of his lips.

Calvin indicated toward the chair across of his desk.

"Sit."

Stephen lingered by Calvin's side, his palms rested on his cane and his trembling head following Billy's every motion.

"Yeah, heh heh, have a seat," he said. "Thinkin you goin ride around with a nigga and not get a chewin out."

Billy slid into the armchair and crossed his legs, visibly ignoring Stephen as he let out a big breath of air.

"Real hot out today," he said.

"Beautiful out," Calvin looked toward the window. The shades were drawn but a wide glint of sunlight mapped a square across the carpet. "So what's this I hear bout you got a slave for me?"

"I do."

Calvin opened his arms.

"Well, then, don't hold back. Tell me about my purchase."

Billy scratched his head.

"She's a gal named Yvette. Not short not tall. 'Bout 20 years. Cute." When Stephen snorted, Calvin raised a finger to silence him. Billy went on. "She from the North. Worked for a bunch of French folks, said she cook, clean, speak French."

Calvin fingered the scruff of his goatee.

"Well aint that something. Blacks just learning all kinds of languages these days. First a German nigga and now this one! I'm quite impressed."

"You know, suh, I coulds learn a language too."

"That's nice, Stephen."

Unlike Brunhilde, this new slave spoke French. It was a known fact that Calvin was a Francophile, collecting all things French and even adopting their décor in his home and the way he dressed up his slaves. The only problem was his mind was stubborn to learn it. But he wouldn't fret on that now.

Billy and Stephen flinched when Calvin suddenly smacked his hands together, full of sudden energy.

"Alright then! We'll find a place for this French speaking girl yet. Let me just see them papers, then. And hands over the rest of my money."

Calvin opened his hand, his attention on the sunlight slanting in from the window. Just where was this French speaking Negro girl? Hopefully not out in the hot sun getting cooked up like black tar.

The airiness in his palm made him look away from the window and back to Billy. Empty-handed.

"There is nothing in this palm." Calvin said. He shook it. "Why isn't the sweet weight of slave papers and billfolds not sittin in my hand?"

Billy's eyes flashed away, mouth half open.

"Uh, I spent all the money on the purchase, and don't have the papers. A man go by Gentleman Gregory got 'um."

Calvin stared at him like he was observing a new species.

"And why the hell would Gentleman Gregory have the papers of _my_ slave?"

Calvin listened as Billy relayed on not having enough for the girl then John's idea to buy her off the Gentleman with the $12,000. Gregory took it, satisfied due to money Calvin loaned him some good years back.

"I just forgot to take the papers is all. Suppose we'd need to make out new ones anyway."

Calvin leaned against his desk, nodded.

"Good ole Gentleman Gregory. Haven't seen that scrawny scarecrow in years. The bastard aint even a gentleman. Some whoop-de-doo down the line held the noble title over in France and the man been wearing it ever since."

It made sense the Gentleman was interested in the nigger girl. Like Calvin, he liked to indulge in the French lifestyle. The Gentleman still had them papers on him. Even with the money exchange the new girl was stolen property without the documents to prove it wrong. Calvin didn't like it.

"You took a step up, then slipped back down, Crash." With careful eyes, Calvin watched the rage buzzing under Billy's skin. The man was a shook up soda bottle ready to explode at any moment. But Calvin knew how to twist him just enough so that he freed just the right amount of foam. Enough to keep Billy fired, but useful. "You need to contact the Gentleman. Leonide in the parlor. You two can draft up paperwork and we can get all these confusions straightened out and this nigga girl in my name."

Billy settled down at the words, his soda bottle rage settling back into its neck.

The responsibility Calvin gave him soothed him. A chance to fix his mistake, no real reprimanding.

As Billy strolled out the room, Calvin headed back to his desk to address the figures book. He flipped back a page.

There it was: _Brunhilde- sold to Dr. King Schultz for $12,000_.

He scratched out everything save the numbers then drew a minus next to the figure, adding _Yvette_ to the top.

Stephen loomed beside him, that agitating shaking blinking in Calvin's peripheral vision. After a while of ignoring him, Calvin gave in.

"What now, Stephen?"

"Oh, nuthin. Nuthin. Just wonderin if anything you care for me to do, suh?"

"Well, yeah," Calvin said. "Go'on and make sure Yvette alright and aint boilin out in this warm weather. I want to meet her this evening, at the Cleo club. And another thing; stop screaming all the goddamned time!"

"But yous screamin now sir-"

"Doesn't matter!"

_Ole Ben, why you have to die and leave me with this loud-mouth scraggly-ass doggy kitty? _

* * *

**Author's Note: **

Hi, just a small note. I'm going to begin spelling "Broomhilda" as "Brunhilde" from now on. Official websites and all spell it like that, but I, for one, think the "Hilde" spelling is more beautiful, classic. It's likely right both ways but on a search Broomhilda calls up a witch on a broomstick and Brunhilde more frequently brings up a woman surrounded by fire so…

On another note, Word document is having a blast correcting all my "aint's" but I am stronger! Haha.

I hope you enjoyed the chapter,

_Yellowspotlight89_


	4. Burgundy and Wine

**Chapter 4:**

Burgundy and Wine

* * *

_**My life reads like the classifieds, p**__**ages of what's for sale, what's on the auction block? **__**Attention bidders, it's Lot 45, **__**he's got a decent voice; he's got that crooked smile.**_

Something cold and wet punched Yvette in the forehead. Eyelashes struggled against lids, fighting the pull to go back into the blank darkness. It felt good there. Softness hugging her body from behind, no longer putrefying like a sweaty pig in the heat.

_Whip, whip._ There it was again. That cold and wet blow against the head.

"That hurts," Yvette said. Her voice was feeble, just a puff of air. Her throat felt sticky and incredibly dry.

She fought her eyelids again, winning this time. Hands hovered close to her face, the same hands that were kneading the cold and wet rag against her forehead. Yvette parted her lips; they moved heavy and slow as if she were wading in a dream.

"That _hurts_," she said louder.

The punching stopped, hands pulling away from Yvette to reveal the body they belonged to. A woman stared down at Yvette, her sharply arched eyebrows sprung high on her face. She had a round face and light brown skin heavy on the cream.

"I didn't realize," The woman said in way of apology. "You been asleep an awful long time."

Yvette tried to sit up, but the gentle hug from behind made her rethink it.

"How long?" She asked. She didn't have much experience with southern slavery, but sleeping most the day didn't sound like part of the job.

The woman shrugged, giving Yvette her back as she dipped the rag in a small bowl. She dropped it back to Yvette's face who shuddered from the coldness. She tried to whip it away but the woman's strong fingers kept it down.

"You had heat stroke, child. What in the world you been doing, sunbathing?"

Yvette licked her dry lips, surveying the room.

"Not on purpose."

The space was sparsely decorated, but each piece of furniture looked polish and new. Large wood dressers. Cream walls. A rocking chair with knitting needles and yarn lying on the seat. The air felt dim and cool and the bed melted beneath her. Much softer than the bumpy horse and even more so than the stiff bench she'd slept on for days at the auction pen.

"She up?" A female voice asked.

The dress in the circular girl stood by the door. She had her fingertip in her mouth and looked at Yvette with a nervous expression.

"Stop bitin them nails, Coco. She just roused." The round woman stood, bed springing up from her rising form.

"I got to sees about lunch. You take over now."

Coco curtsied as the woman bustled out the door. As Coco maneuvered about the room, Yvette wondered how the woman moved so well in that inflated dress. She came back with a bowl in one hand and a drinking glass in the other.

"Candy?" Coco asked her.

Yvette blinked as the girl dropped a small pile of multicolored candies into her hand. Yvette's stomach whined, but it wasn't in greeting of food. With how thirsty she was, Yvette feared she'd throw up a small rainbow if she ate that candy now.

Yvette motioned toward the empty glass.

"Something to drink would be better."

"Oh!"

Coco fluttered to the side table. Beside the bowl was a pitcher of water and she filled the glass to the brim. After a murmured thanks, Yvette grabbed the glass so fast that water sloshed onto the bed. She guzzled down the cool liquid, a moan escaping from how good it felt against her parched throat, sparking life into her sluggish limbs. Swiping her mouth with the back of her hand, Yvette held the glass out again.

"More please?"

Coco took it, refilling. Yvette gulped that glass down in seconds too, popping the candies in her mouth afterwards. They had a sweet minty taste to them that felt cool in her mouth.

"They're Candie mints. Monsieur Candie himself invented them. I thought since you had a heat stroke they would help you cool down a bit faster."

When Yvette thanked her, Coco smiled. She fiddled with the ribbon in her hair.

"And 'bout what you said earlier. Yes, it's a big bow."

Yvette felt her cheeks grow hot, and heat was definitely not what she needed if she'd just passed out from it.

"Sorry. That was odd for me to say."

Coco shrugged.

"I know it's a bit…fancy. But Monsieur Candie likes all Cleopatra Club girls dressed pretty. It's part of my uniform."

Coco's face didn't betray any displeasure or pain. She looked content. Yvette was curious. She didn't understand the Cleopatra bit but not sure how to ask about it. Besides, something else pressed at her more. Just who was this Calvin, her new master? He had rich tastes and was indeed rich, judging from the size of his land and the house that triumphed any she'd ever seen in Pennsylvania. If she was to make a good impression, she needed to learn as much as she could about him, and how he ran his slaves.

"So what is it you do for Monsieur Calvin?"

"Well…" The bed dipped as Coco sat down beside Yvette. "I hold the candy bowls."

Yvette stared at her blankly.

"I'm sorry. What'd you say?"

Coco giggled.

"Just what you heard. I'm more like his run around girl. Answering doors at the Cleopatra Club, greeting guests, but mostly just keepin his candy close."

Yvette fell back on the bed. _I need to stop being shocked. Remember, Yvette, this is "faerieland."_

"Is life good here?" she asked.

Coco paused.

"That's a hard question. Was it bad where you came from?"

Yvette shook her head.

"No whippings, food and bed. Life in the main house. I can't complain too much." Plus, she was paid. Sad, all her savings gone now, wasted. All her books...

Coco nodded.

"Well, that's life here. For me, anyways. Monsieur's work hands aren't light on the whip for field slaves, but since you're pretty and Billy brought you all the way to the big house, I'm sure you'll live here."

"I've been wondering about that. What position I might be filling. I heard someone just left."

"If you a replacement, you might be takin Brunhilde's spot. She was …" Coco glanced over to the wall. "A man comforter, if you understand me."

Yvette shot up, clutching her blankets. She'd feared something like that. Her thoughts flickered to Billy Crash and their ride on the horse and she trembled.

Before she'd thought a "hard-one" wasn't her problem. Now it might be her business. She'd never been with any man before. Slave boys had kissed her and she'd had a flirtatious fling or two, but never before had she been intimate. With anymore.

Coco placed a hand on Yvette's shoulder, tapping it.

"Don't worry too much, now. Brunhilde never complained."

"Was it because she liked it or because she had no choice?"

"No choice, I suppose," Coco said. "It's not like we have much choice, being who we are. But we kind of got the easy deal, right?" She smiled at Yvette, as if to cheer her up.

Yvette forced out a smile she didn't feel, averting her eyes.

"Yeah. Suppose being a house whore is better than the whip, working in the field. Don't have the skills for that."

Coco took Yvette's hand in hers, flipping it.

"By golly, you're right. These are soft as fluffed cream. What is it you did for your master?"

"I cared for the children. Tougher on the legs than the hands. Those kids were like newborn chicks trying to fly out the nest all the time. Just plain bad." Guilt caught Yvette by the throat. Little Adelia and Belden might have been awful sometimes, but they were also dead.

So much had happened in such a short time. Her mama passing in her sleep. The farm burned down and all the Belisles shot, slaves she grew up with scattered about the country. One day she was content -unfulfilled and dreaming empty dreams- but still content. The next she was sold, travelling through the states for long weeks, then finally confined to a pen for days. Now here she was, slave to a large plantation where nothing seemed to make sense.

She really missed mama. Yvette felt warmth hit her eyes, but she shunned the tears. But Coco saw the sadness on her face and without warning engulfed Yvette in a hug. Yvette was stiff at first, not used to such a warm touch in such a long time, and soon she had her arms wrapped around her too.

After a moment, Coco let her go, holding out the candy bowl. Yvette took a handful.

"You miss people," Coco said. "But don't worry. We a family here. Even some of the white men nice to us. Billy." Her eyes looked distracted for a minute, and Yvette wondered, a little smile rising up. She wouldn't press though.

"And what about Calvin?"

_The Candy man. _She kept hearing her master's name but hardly had a hint about who he was. He seemed well-known, judging from Gentleman Gregory's reaction. Very literal with his last name. Liked candy. She imagined a fat guy too big for his breeches, his buttons popping as he bent down to snatch fistfuls of candies from Coco.

"Call him Monsieur Calvin in public eye, but yes, he can be…nice. But only if he like you. So make sure he likes you."

Yvette bit her lip.

"And how do I do that?"

"You be sweet," Coco said, giving Yvette a coy look from her brown doe-like eyes. "He has the sweet tooth something awful."

... ...

Yvette looked at herself for the first time in weeks. The journey to Mississippi had forced her focus on surviving. Looks were far from mind aside from the one part of her looks that no one let slip from mind. Candles burning from the dresser made the humble space glow. The light played against Yvette's skin, illuminating it.

She placed a hand on her cheek.

Why was it a curse? Brown skin like honey, wheat. A sister color to the gold that people died mining for. No one died for ivory, matte bones and animal tusks, yet it was the ivory that men upheld, shaped and made art of. And the gold remained hidden. Buried in the soil.

Brown.

Such a beautiful, nourishing thing, and yet people walked all over it. Even though within its depths there was gold. Untouchable though, perilous to dig for, doomed to remain undiscovered.

What was Yvette to believe about herself? Her worth. Was it buried so deep within herself that no one would bother mining past all the soil to learn of the gold inside? Did it even exist?

Apparently she had some worth if a man spent $12,000 to have her. The number was big enough, but who could price a life?

Coco kneeled to tighten the strings of Yvette's bodice. It squeezed the breath out of her. With each row of ties that Coco worked up toward, Yvette felt sure that this would be the one to collapse her ribs. She braced her ears for the crack and her body for the crunch.

"Relax. You're tensing too much. Can't tell how tight to tie."

"Tight enough," Yvette breathed, jerking to an uneven rhythm with each of Coco's yanks.

Cora, the larger woman, had come back with a message. It was from Monsieur Candie, reported by the head house slave who Yvette now knew was Stephen. Calvin would like to see her this evening at the Cleopatra Club, the night spot that he ran. It was evening now.

"You hardly need this bodice with a waist shaped like that," Coco said. "But this will definitely add _oomph_."

Yvette looked down at her chest. Sure enough, the tops of her breast looked plumped and defined.

When Coco finished she stepped back to give Yvette a full view of the mirror. A little jolt ran through Yvette shoulders. She felt like someone else. Still Yvette, but more than just Yvette. Not just the fulltime babysitter for two wild children. Not just a slave.

Human.

_No, _she corrected herself.

A woman.

She had finally taken a proper bath. Not just the toss in the lake at the auction that only served to wipe the dust from her skin. Now she looked clean and felt it too.

Her filthy dress was discarded for this ruby toned gown. Crimson bodice with a skirt flowing to the calves.

Yvette threaded her fingers through her black curls, soft and loose from the bath. Coco had twisted it up in some elaborate updo and when Yvette moved the curls bounced against her neck. Careful care and braiding since childhood made her hair strong; even the months of travel given no attention hadn't damaged it much. It still fell past her shoulder blades, a spirally mix of coils ranging tight to loose.

"You ready?" Coco asked.

Yvette took once final glance in the mirror. Her eyes looked big on her face, nerves and anticipation. Her heart tried to weasel out of the bodice. She would meet her new master soon. She hoped her dressy looks were enough to get in his favor; her tongue felt thick and dumb, definitely no clever words would come out to impress him tonight.

"Remember, be sweet." Coco took Yvette by the wrist and opened the door of the bedroom. Ready or not, she had no choice but to come.

* * *

CLEOPATRA CLUB. FINEST ESTABLISHMENT IN ALL MISSISSIPPI.

FRENCH FLAIR. EXTRAORDINARY PONIES. FINE DINING DANCERS.

Yvette looked away from the poster, glancing around the foyer. Walls were imprinted with majestic patterns and gold trimmings. Elegantly dressed black women hung on the arms of white men. Music poured out from behind the doors accompanied by the hard clap of dancing feet.

The poster didn't lie.

She already knew Calvin Candie was a different kind of man. And now, she realized, the man didn't just like candy.

Yvette took a deep breath, letting her shoulders fall back as she followed Coco up the winding staircase. Yvette told herself she'd stop being shocked at everything she saw. But the integration at this club was nothing less than eye widening.

Another thing about him was his obvious French heritage. His title wasn't just monsieur for nothing. A bit of hope hit her. This could be fate. What were the odds of leaving one French farm to land into the hands of another? Billy Crash's fight to have her made more sense now.

_We have a French background in common. This could be my advantage to get on his good side. _A bounce found Yvette's step as she headed down the red carpeted hall. Finally, Yvette and Coco reached huge gold crested doors. They opened and out poured music and laughter.

It took her four seconds to spot him. No mistake that the man across the way was Calvin Candie.

Leaning against a wall, loose posture in a burgundy suit. He had an arm slung over a woman who wore a yellow gown that popped against her brown skin. Calvin whispered in her ear and smoky laughter slid from her mouth, her full lips arresting a wine glass. The woman stared deep into the eyes of Monsieur Candie like a snake to her charmer.

But then the charmer looked away, his gaze narrowed on the door Coco shut behind them. His eyes lingered, scanned, then boom; stopped right onto Yvette. Now she was caught in the charmer's binding gaze, but felt more like a mouse than a snake. Yvette didn't realize when her feet stirred. She simply started moving, leaving Coco behind in a brisk amble. Time to meet her Master.

... ... ... ...

It took him one second to spot her. And he had no clue who the hell she was.

Southern Hospitality had legs and it was strolling right toward him.

_Whose pony is she_? He wondered, dark brow sharply cocked.

The Cleopatra Club boasted of its extraordinary ponies, but here was a real show horse. Big ass eyes, proportionate lips, a baby's nose. The nigga genes were doing her justice, somehow leaving out all the uglier bits and saving her the ones he actually liked to look at. The pretty little body was locked in a tight contraption with popping cleavage begging to be free, her skirts swirling around the hips with each approaching step.

Sheba noticed her too, for her eyes narrowed and that pretty face of hers got all twisted up. Calvin bent down to whisper in her ear.

"Go keep Coco company, darling."

"Why?" Sheba said, arms crossed and a surly snarl on her plump lips. "She ain't lonely."

"Suit yourself, then." Boy, was his show nigger stubborn.

Calvin didn't know what the approaching young woman wanted, but if she took him by the hand and asked to get better acquainted in one of the private suites, he sure as hell would follow.

The woman bent into a curtsy the moment she reached him, gaze to the ground.

"Bonjour, Monsieur Candie," she said in the sweetest, wicked French. A chill shook up his spine. "Je m'appelle Yvette Belisle."

Calvin straightened from his half slump against the wall. Well, this much French he knew. And surely she had just called herself the name of his new purchase.

Candie detached from Sheba, leaving her pouting from behind his shoulder. Yvette hadn't risen from her curtsy yet when Calvin took her hand, bending to place a kiss on her knuckles.

"Bonjour, Yvette. Pleasure to finally meet my slave. You been hiding from me all day?"

A berry blush crowded the apples of her cheeks, faint against the gold brown tinted skin.

_Now if this aint the most adorable thing I seen. Brown as a hare and shy as a white rabbit._

"I wasn't hiding, I was-"

His laughter interrupted her.

"I know, I know. If you rushed you wouldn't have had time to get so pretty for me, now would ya?"

Sheba made a noise.

"Don't look like she took much time to me."

Yvette bit her lip, her eyes darting to the flat shoes on her feet and staying there. Shamed. Calvin looked back at Sheba, brow raised.

"Now, Beautiful. Not everyone can meet your refinement." Sheba smirked at his words, pleased by his attentions. That is until he added, "Nor do most niggers have all day to dapple with their faces in the vanity like you do."

As her smirk dissolved, Calvin's appeared. He turned his back to Sheba.

Calvin widened his arms, signally to the people in the room.

"Hey, everyone! Come on over and meet our guest."

Heads turned, and Amerigo and other guests rose from bar stools, men parting from the pool table, and other various bodies moving toward them. Butch his bodyguard shifted to stand in even closer proximity to Candie, as always hand glued to the pistol at his hip.

Calvin draped an arm around Yvette's shoulder, turning her to face the gathering crowd. He ignored how she squirmed, flashing a big smile to the room instead.

"This here is Yvette. Billy got her this morning at Johnny's Auction. Think she worth the buy?"

A couple men in the ground grunted their agreement, raising their glasses.

"A good buy indeed," Dennis Johnston said, raising his glass as he surveyed Yvette with a tilted head.

"How much I gotta pay to ride a pony like her, Calvin?" Walter Hendrickson asked.

Calvin's laughs rose up with the rest of the rooms, but the timid black booger went frigid under his arms, tense as a plank of wood. Perhaps some golden liquid would melt that posture of hers.

Calvin snapped his finger at the bartender. It was Big Brown working tonight. Ironic since he was a thick cut of a nigger, black as an overcooked steak.

"Big Brown, pour Ms. Belisle some champagne, but add something a little sweet in it."

Calvin shook Yvette a little.

"You need to loosen these stiff bones," he said, smiling down at her with all his teeth.

After a pause, she smiled back, but he could see the mental recoil in her big ole frightened eyes. His brows furrowed, the smile dropping.

_It aint the teeth, right? _He thought, brushing a tongue over a silver tooth._ I think they gives me character._

He looked down at the girl, wondering what he could say to take that trapped rabbit look out of her eyes. She'd strut toward him like a pony on a mission to its stables. Now those eyes were darting about, looking for some straw to hide under. Yvette shifted, and his attention caught on her cleavage for a moment, then skimmed down to her skirts.

_Well, I'll be. _

"We match, Pony." He said.

Yvette's gaze dropped to her chest then onto her skirts, finally flashing onto Calvin's burgundy suit.

"Oui, we do." She softened under his arm a bit and it made something in his chest go soft too.

_These black buggers don't even know what they do to me. Look at her poking at my soft heart with them big old eyes and timidity. _

Big Brown passed the drink to Calvin, the scent of champagne and strawberries wafted from the glass. Sweet and sparkling. He thrust the glass between Yvette's clasped hands and she stared into the glass as if she'd never seen alcohol for. Her tiny nose twitched, sniffing it, and he was about to say _just drink it, gal_ when she shot it back quick as a wink, then wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

"Woo!" Calvin said, clapping. "A natural swigger nigger, we got here!"

Everybody chuckled, men bending over and ponies swatting hands over their mouths. Calvin smirked. He liked his world like this, with people falling over at his clever words, worshiping him like the sleek Cleopatra herself. A masculine version, of course.

But then it happened.

The little brown rabbit turned to him, her lips producing sound but no sense coming out of them. She was speaking French and there was nothing basic about these words. Her curling tongue sent a vibration through his chest, tangling his ears. The room went silent. Mortified looks colored everyone's faces, guests coughing, pretending to study the framed photos of the war generals on the walls.

"Uh, yeah. Oui, oui." Calvin said in answer, hoping that addressed whatever she was saying.

Yvette stared up at him, blinking from her big eyes. She said more words in French, confusing the hell out of him. Now it was Calvin's turn to stiffen, nails scraping the soft centers of his palms. She was breaking the whispered rule of the Cleopatra Club: speak French if you please, but never to the Monsieur.

And he needed to shut her up. Fast.

Calvin captured Yvette's chin, angled it upwards, and pressed a hard kiss on her lips. It was closed mouth, chaste, but when she gasped, those surprised lips parted, unintentionally pressing deeper into his.

His breathing grew faint at the contact. Something twitched in his pants.

_Goddammit. _

Calvin jerked away, dropping Yvette's chin like it was a hot coal. He forced himself to act as if he didn't see her stumbling about, her back meeting the frame of Amerigo in the crowd. The man laughed, gripping her forearm before shoving her back towards Candie.

Yvette rubbed her forearm and Calvin still tried his best to ignore her, smirking at the roused crowd. Their eyes were bright with the excitement that'd just passed before them.

"Taste sweet." Calvin winked, licking his still moist lips. "Sweet as candy."

Everyone laughed, their chuckling bodies liquid and Calvin's embarrassing head butt with Yvette's French long forgotten.

_Still one thing to deal with, though_, he thought as Sheba's screaming rung in his ears.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Hi, everyone! I finished framing this story and I'm thrilled for everything that's to come. Some of the future events are definitely exciting and if I am successful, engaging and surprising. Wink wink.

I was reading into behind-the-scenes Django Unchained articles/interviews and I was surprised to know that in the flick, Sheba and Calvin have a more definite relationship. They even had full make out scenes that didn't make it (or I sure as heck didn't notice) so I tried to capture his attraction to "Sheba" and "ponies" as much as possible while still maintaining his racist, superiority-complex.

Also thanks for all these kind and helpful reviews, I appreciate them! It's amazing that people actually like this and I'm so grateful for that.

So there's my rant. I hope you guys like the chapter and will be around to see the finish of _A Sweet Craving! _

Again, thank you and see you next time._  
_

_-Yellowspotlight89_

PS: The poster that Yvette reads is real. At least there's a make of it. Image search "Django Cleopatra Club" and you will see!


	5. Slip-ups

_**Oh I heard you were trouble, And you heard I was trouble. But your name is a wave washing over me, no games just a slave to you, totally.**_

Chapter 5: Slip-ups_**  
**_

Yvette licked her bottom lip.

The tang of champagne and strawberries still lingered, as did a new flavor, one that even her vivid imagination couldn't make up; Monsieur Candie's kiss.

He sure didn't taste like candy.

The hard press of his lips on hers embossed his taste on her mouth. She traced it with her tongue, not sure she was trying to savor it or wash it away. In any case, it was hard to shrug it off when its essence didn't want to leave.

The lady in yellow screamed. She was loud, her hollers almost musical in the full, rich voice. Yvette knew she should feel something for her – guilt? Sympathy? But like a newborn baby hardly sees beyond the toes at the end of its legs, Yvette only saw _him_, the man who'd promptly stamped his taste on her mouth to shrug her off just as fast.

And he wouldn't look at her.

Taking care of the Belisle kids made Yvette a good people reader; it was her job to guess the children's needs, to foreshadow the next tantrum. And judging from Monsieur Candie's jittery posture and flashing eyes, he could use a chair and a glass of strawberry champagne.

A light flush marred his cheeks as he addressed his crowd, voice inclined to speak over the woman's screaming. He snapped witty comments, dapped sweat from a twitching eyebrow, and tripped over his own feet.

Make that straight vodka and a nap.

Monsieur Calvin was a ball of nervous energy, expending and releasing his vapors across the room.

And Yvette was certain it was she who'd struck that match.

At what point did she step on his foot? She'd curtsied, smiled, even spoke his native tongue. Going with Coco's advice, she'd tried for engage him on his choice to mix sweet syrup with the champagne and asked him what beverages he liked to drink.

But he hadn't answered with words. Instead he'd kissed her as if to let her find out for herself. Her tongue darted out again, tasting the ghost of the thick malty flavor.

_I guess he likes beer. _

But that wasn't the reason for his kiss. It hadn't been a literal response to her question, but it didn't seem romantic either. Everything about it, from the abrupt start and finish, said _this is so you'll shut up._

There was no tenderness, affection, and he'd departed their lips with a blunt, dismissive end.

And that bugged her. Whether Maria Belisle was to blame or no, Yvette carried high hopes in love. She only wished to share kisses she could savor. She didn't want them thrown out loosely and stamped out quickly, all to shut up a woman who talked too much.

Though it was better than the other means of shutting a woman up, like a fist between the teeth. Or in the case of a slave like her, a switch. Perhaps that was why she couldn't weasel an inch of pity for Calvin's screaming damsel. From the eyes she made at him, there really was some fondness between them. Calvin's kiss wasn't real. It was a tool to silence, not the gift of affection.

What a waste.

But judging from how her body reacted to the kiss, you'd think she received a bushel of Christmas presents. That warm press of his lips on hers contorted her heart like a tuneless accordion. Her whole body burned, eyelids fluttered closed, and she'd breathed in, pulling his breath between hers- then he'd cut it all off.

_I really need to forget about it_, she told herself. Mere thoughts of the brief contact flushed her skin, her bared neck and chest spotting with color. Shifting on her toes, she glanced up at Monsieur Calvin.

His face was animated, his form so expressive. Looking at him wasn't like guessing fussy children's needs. Calvin Candie was so readable, every move written in pure English.

Blue eyes touched with smiling crinkles, set beneath the constantly lilting eyebrows. Smirking lips rimmed with beard, from the bow of his lips to the jaw.

Yvette brought a hand to her face, traced where his facial hair had scratched against her jaw. A phantom tingle still lingered. She'd never kissed a man with facial hair. In fact all her kisses were from fifteen to twenty, fellow Belisle slaves who liked her and that she must've liked to. But none really had facial hair to speak of yet. The prickly rub against smooth skin was new, shocking to her smooth face. Good.

No! Not good. Why even entertain thoughts of that shut-up kiss?

_I'm forgetting something big here. He is my owner. My _white _owner. _

Calvin turned to Yvette like he'd remembered the girl standing at his elbow. The cloud of energy seemed to deflate as he looked her up and down, his big gestures gone, replaced with a casual lean on his back foot, hands soft at his sides. Yvette's fingers gripped the wine glass, the other hidden in her skirts.

Monsieur Calvin took the free hand and she feared what he'd do- bring a switch to the skin, throw her against the wall? She _was_ being thrown around an awful lot. Instead he bent over and placed a kiss to her knuckle, raising his gaze slowly up to hers. When she'd first introduced herself, he had looked at her with a fluid sensuality in his eyes, curiosity. If any of those remained they were frozen now, iced and solid in his cold, blue eyes.

"Your French is impressive," Calvin said. His lips jerked, a smile or a frown. "Billy at least got that right."

He released her hand to take the other. Yvette thought he'd kiss that too but instead he pried open her hand to seize the wine glass from her clammy fingers.

"You won't need this anymore," his voice was flat as a low tide. "So go off, now. Play with Coco or something."

With one final look that chilled Yvette's spine, he turned his back to her. Slave dismissed.

Yvette curtsied to his back and turned to do as he said. Folks murmured as she passed, men's lips bunched in a scowl, women shaking their elaborately styled heads. Yvette kept her eyes on the feather patterned rug beneath her slippers, heading toward the pool table. Coco waited there, wrists settled on the flaring skirt. When Yvette reached her, Coco motioned to her and set off and Yvette followed.

"Uh-oh," Coco whispered as they'd moved away from the table. They settled onto the couch. "You made a slip." She said.

Yvette's heart sunk, reality drowning it.

"That _was_ a shut up kiss, huh?" she asked in the same low whisper.

Coco's lip pouched out as she shrugged.

"Well?"

"_Well_," Coco said, fidgeting with her skirt hem. "He had to keep you quiet somehow. You was speaking French to him."

Yvette peered at Coco from the corner of her eye.

"Why is that bad?" she asked, confused.

"You not supposed to speak French to Monsieur Candie."

Yvette pinched her eyebrows, shaking her head as if to shake some understanding into it.

"That's an odd rule for a French man to have."

Why wouldn't she speak French in a French-themed club to the French club owner?

Coco dropped a hand on Yvette's shoulder.

"He ain't French, Yvette," she explained. "And he can't speak it."

Slowly and surely, cold realization crawled its way into her head. This Monsieur Candie was a French-lover, not a speaker. And as a man of glitzy appearances, he probably liked to pretend he was both.

And she'd about yanked the red curtain from that stage, hadn't she?

_Could have used a warning before I met him, though. _

Yvette leaned toward the fireplace that curled at their feet; with cold realization came a real cold. She'd offended her master. She had her chance to impress him and already she'd failed. A shiver caught her arms, in desperate need of some warmth. As she chaffed her hands together, her eyes strayed to the floor. The space in front of the fireplace looked lighter, as if heavily scrubbed. Blotchy stains marred the wood as well.

"Someone must've spilled a lot of wine here," Yvette said, motioning towards the discolored floors.

Coco looked where she'd pointed, then stiffened like a deer before a gun barrel.

"That is not wine." she said.

Silence lingered in the air between them. Yvette broke it.

"Blood?"

Coco adjusted her hair bow, nodded.

"Mandingo fights." Yvette stared at her, jaw slack. "Cleopatra Club's main attraction. Negro versus Negro in fights to the death. Monsieur has the best Mandingos in all Mississippi. His never lose a fight."

Yvette tensed as horrendous images flashed to mind. The bodice's grip on her ribs shot pangs through her torso.

Her master watched men kill each other for fun. And she'd had the pleasure of getting on his nerves tonight. Surely she'd pay a price worth more than her feeble body could afford. If Monsieur Calvin wished to throw Yvette under the whip, what different would it make in her line of employment? She wasn't a Cleopatra Club hostess like Coco. She was Brunhilde's replacement, Candieland's whore. A girl wouldn't need an unscarred back when she's lying on it.

Checking over her shoulder, she realized the room was preoccupied with alcohol and conversation, not paying any mind to the slave girls huddled on the couch. Yvette took a deep breath and leaned toward Coco.

"Tell me more about him," Her eyes were filled with serious intent. "Tell me what I need to know."

* * *

Billy hated this goddamn Cleopatra Club. He hated the constant alcohol flow, he hated the singing and wiggling and loud talking, but more than anything, he hated how unreal it was compared to the rest of Mississippi. Walking through the golden doors was like passing into a different dimension.

An establishment stuffed as Deep South as one could stuff it, the Cleo Club boiled over with a whole mixed bag of cracked conventions. Conventions that stretched over Mississippi like a protective tent and sheltered the questioning mind of a white boy like him all his life.

Daddy told him that niggers were property. Ugly, lesser beings given unto Whites to regulate their heathen animal souls.

Working with Calvin Candie was really confusing those lessons.

Billy took a look around the lobby. A pack of ponies were walking by, grinning as they passed by him. Billy tipped his hat, clearing his throat and they giggled and said howdy in their sultry accents. He was having a hard time finding the ugly in their glossed up hair, glowing skin. And there was definitely no control being wielded over those swaying hips, nor the suggestive looks the women flashed over their shoulders.

_Where's them ugly, animal heathens now, daddy? _

Calvin wasn't the only one to blame for lifting the sheet off the world he knew. Actually, Billy's uncertainty with society's norms had been roused at a young age. And Father was the one to stir them. It all began with Patricia. She was a house slave at the Crash Plantation. Daddy focused a particular browbeating on her, always yelling and badgering her, had her doing extra housework well in the middle of the night. Young Billy liked to hide behind the furniture sometimes, and watch as Daddy pushed her around and yelled at her. But it wasn't until he actually thought Billy wasn't around when he'd look at Patricia with a strange glint in his eyes, act extra gentle to her. Billy watched his father touch her in ways he never knew a man could touch a woman. Especially one that wasn't his Mama.

A hand trailing down her arm, a soft slap on the bottom, and other grown up touches that the older boys talked about in school.

Then Patricia got pregnant, had herself a baby. It was a healthy boy, he heard from other house slaves that night, a healthy boy with a healthy set of lungs. But when Mama got a look at him, she proved how healthy her own lungs were.

And Billy never saw Patricia again.

With her gone, the baby was sent to be cared for by the field slaves. Billy would try to sneak into the cabins and see it, but got spanked enough that he eventually lost interest. Soon school and friends occupied more of his time then the nigger baby.

But when he got a little older, he felt well like a man and wouldn't bear a beating on his butt anymore. Plus Mama and Daddy weren't around as much, couldn't seem to stay in the same room as one another since Patricia's baby…and he needed to know why. And so he went out to watch the slaves on the plantation one day, using a vague seven year old's memory as the wheel to steer him to that mysterious child, the one that mama was so outraged by that she cast it from the house and made Patricia disappear…

Billy saw him. Except he wasn't a baby now, but a boy about the height of his knee cap. He had a curly head of hair unlike the other Negros. His was looser than theirs, lighter. And as Billy got closer to the boy, tending the land with a plow three heads taller than him, he noticed that wasn't the only thing lighter about the boy too…

And that was really when Billy doubted the things he'd been told about niggers. No matter what his teachers, neighbors, and even strangers said about them, their words never settled in. They just sat on his head like dust in the hair, washed out every time he thought of Patricia's boy.

Papa's boy.

His brother.

Billy refocused as Leonide's voice echoed across the foyer. As the lawyer made his way down the stairs, jabbering on about nothing important, he was followed by a pensive-looking Calvin. Billy pushed off from the wall, reaching into his coat pocket for the forms that lay there.

Meeting Leonide and Calvin halfway, he unfolded the papers, and Leonide snatched them out of his hand.

"You don't just fold business papers like that," He snapped.

A muscle jumped in Billy's jaw.

"Pardon me," he said, grudging out a grin.

It wasn't the time to knuckle the lawyer in the head, not with Calvin looking in no jolly mood.

"This way, gentleman," Calvin said with a sigh, motioning them toward the door by the staircase.

He unlocked the office and Leonide hurried inside to light the oil lamps. As the room bloomed with light the men filed inside, closing the door behind him.

"So you two took care of everything," Calvin said, pulling reading glasses from his pocket.

Billy plucked the papers from Leonide's hands, handing them to Calvin.

"Yep. Personally drafted up the legal agreements. Now all you gotta do is sign em and the gal will be in your name."

"Just dandy."

Calvin set down the papers and Leonide read them off and pointed out where to sign. Billy watched it all, staring at Calvin from the cuts of his eyes. He had seen Calvin go from energized to placid, but this wasn't right. The man looked drained, sedated.

"You sleepin good?" Billy asked, approaching Candie.

Calvin just grunted.

"I holds Sheba's fine brown bottom in my hand every night. Why wouldn't I be sleepin good?" he said.

"Alright, alright. Just wondering." Billy fingered his pocket, taking a smooth step back. If Calvin wanted to talk, he would.

When Calvin finished dashing his signature across all the forms, he replaced the glasses and thanked the men for their work. Leonide gave a bow and began to head out. Billy was one step after him.

"Wait, Crash. Wanna talk to you for a minute."

And there it was.

Billy smirked a little at calling it, slamming the door behind Leonide.

"Yea?" He asked, heading to the center of the room.

Calvin drew a hand over his face, sliding it all the way past the forehead and over his blond, dark-rooted hair.

"Remember what I said earlier, bout you takin steps up and sliding back down?"

Billy hesitated. So his little slip of the morning what's got Calvin acting all weird? He'd had made everything right, damn it! Got the papers to Gentleman Gregory, who signed and approved everything with a broad smile and not a wink of hesitation. Everything was official now. The slave Yvette was Calvin's and he could rest easy on it.

But there was nothing resting easy about the look on Calvin's face. His right eyebrow was twitching, like it always did when something bothered him, even as a younging in school.

"Yeah," Billy finally said. "I did mess up today, but I've taken my steps ahead. You gots the papers now, what else you want me to—"

Calvin swatted the air dismissively.

"That's not what I'm talkin about, Billy. It's about your pick."

"My pick." Billy repeated, a little wary.

Calvin's mouth took on a surprised "o."

"Have you already forgotten about her? Curly head, huggable little body."

Billy looked at the tips of his boots.

"Nah, I ain't forget. What's wrong with her? I didn't see no runaway mark on her face, and she talk real good. Thought she was a good buy."

"Ah, talk." Calvin drew away from his desk, pacing in front of Billy. "Her talk is what's gon' get her in trouble."

"She got a smart mouth?" He asked, lips quirking into a grimace.

Strange, she didn't seem too quippy. Kind of cute and quiet, if you asked him. Damn, he hoped no one asked him. Not like he could say that.

Calvin laughed, a shrill sound that crashed against the walls. If a stranger had heard it, he'd think it was the laugh of a madman who discovered how to animate dead bodies. But as Billy knew, this was just Calvin.

"If she needed more attitude I'd just have her take lessons from Sheba."

Billy chewed his thumbnail. They were walking in circles, steady going nowhere. He was growing antsy from this conversation, decided to be direct.

"Still don't see the issue, Candie."

Billy flinched as noise exploded over the room, his hand clasped to his gun holster in a second flat. But he drew his hand away as he realized it was just Calvin's fists that'd slamming the desk. An ink pot tipped and dribbled ink like an oil spill across an ocean, narrowly missing the slave papers.

Calvin composed himself with a shake of his head. His fingers fitted together, the knuckles red and cut from his slamming.

"It's not how she talks," He said, teeth gritted. "It's how much she can talk that is the problem. And who she decided to talk to."

Meaning sunk to Billy's brain like water through a colander.

He swore. _Hadn't warned the girl not to use her French on Calvin._

He let out a long breath. His defenses usually flanked up by now, but he couldn't be mad at Calvin or the girl. The Cleo Club owner was devoted to looking good and he imagined he'd been embarrassed. And Billy was too damn busy testing Yvette on the ability, teasing her and hell, _flirting _with her to actually say when and who she couldn't use it with.

He could only kick himself for not instructing her right. Another step up then another step back. This dance was making him dizzy.

"So what you do to her?" He asked, his gaze on the wall, casual.

He knew there would be penalties if she'd made him this mad. A whipping perhaps, or maybe just the scare of Stonesipher's dogs?

"Me? I did nothing." Calvin said.

A sigh escaped Billy's lips.

It wasn't like he particularly cared for this girl. He was never light on the whip and disciplining the field niggers never bothered him. Yet the feeling that softened his posture was definitely some form of relief. It must have been because he selected Yvette himself. He'd never bought or owned a slave of his own and doing all the handpicking and retrieving must have made him feel oddly responsible for making sure she performed right.

Had to be it. Though when he pictured that round eyed girl crying out from the slap of a whip against her body, he wanted to shudder.

_Nope, not my responsibility, feelin' bad. Even if she was disciplined for something my fault. _

Calvin went to his desk, reaching for a handkerchief. He moved the papers a safe distance to wipe up the ink, though he did more to smear the mess than clean it.

"Do you remember school, Crash? Mr. Martin?"

Billy smirked at him.

"Of 'course." Calvin and Billy had attended the same school, learning and growing beside one another.

Calvin chuckled.

"You recall that section on French? The book we each got sent home to read over harvest time."

"Sure do."

The book had been confusing as all hell and Billy didn't understand a word of what he'd read. That is, until they came back for class in the winter. Once Mr. Martin entered the class and began teaching their regular lessons in French, it was like a candle flickered on and all the confusing readings were brought to the light.

"I never picked up that book." Calvin said. "Was intimidated by the thickness. Told myself it wasn't important."

So that explained why Calvin slumped behind while everyone else excelled. Billy just thought he was slow only to hear now that Calvin hadn't even tried to learn it. And now here he was, a thirty-something Francophile with a love for French and no knowledge how to speak it.

Calvin must've picked up on the way Billy looked at him.

"Don't think I aint tried to learn again. The brain gets hardened overtime, ya know. Reluctant to take in new information. Hired private tutors and everything but French? It just don't take."

Billy nodded his understanding.

That must be frustrating to live with, especially when most your acquaintances, friends, and rivals were taught under Mr. Martin and learned their French and you didn't.

"Anyhow, I aint gonna punish the gal, not knowing the unspoken system." Calvin said. He looked more himself now that it was off of his chest. Perhaps the girl was safe after all. Billy would just find her soon as he could, warn her not to be using that "gift" so freely.

Billy began to nod but stopped as a grin spread across Calvin's face. He smiled with all his candy-rotted teeth.

"I aint gonna punish her, Billy, 'cuz you gonna."


	6. Sweet Hope

**_It's been a long time since I came around, been a long time but i'm back in town. This time I'm not leaving without you. You taste like whiskey when you kiss me, oh. I'll give anything again to be your baby doll. This time I'm not leaving without you._**

Punish her. Those words shouldn't make Billy's stomach drop, his gaze avert to the floor, his fists clench.

But damn, they did.

So he'd handpicked the girl himself, exchanged money for her purchase. What of it? It wasn't a good enough reason to feel grungy about disciplining Yvette, just another piece of Candieland property. All part of the job. Billy Crash was no softie. He'd disciplined many a slave over the years without winking an eye. Just counted out the licks and went on his way.

Well, except with that one kid.

Some twelve year old field boy caught stealing from the big house. He wasn't much use anyway, and Calvin ordered him dead by whipping. Billy hadn't finished that order. Instead he stopped himself at twenty licks, couldn't take the sight of all that red against the boy's shredded flesh, grated to meat. Billy told the boy to stay invisible for a few months till Calvin forgot about him.

It'd taken Billy a night long horse ride around the plantation to shake out the echoes of the kid's screaming.

And just like that kid, Yvette belonged to Calvin. Billy was just a working hand, even if he was the one Candie kept closest. He didn't have any investments in the land, no flagpole stuck in it.

It wasn't his plantation and it wasn't his girl.

But the fists weren't unclenching, stomach hadn't righted itself.

Calvin was scanning over Yvette's papers. He didn't even glance up from reading as Billy stood there, at war with himself.

"The girl's up in the Mandingo room. I'm sure you don't need escorting," Calvin said after a while. He raised an eyebrow. "So why you still here?"

Billy's jaw worked, seeking diction for his thoughts. He blurted out the first words that shaped in his mind.

"Any requests on how I do this?" he asked.

Calvin fingered his chin.

"Hmm."

Billy toed at invisible dust with his boot. Knowing Candie's sardonic ass, he'd have him performing something that would disturb that girl for life. Well, Calvin could do it himself then. Billy didn't want that woman's howling in his ears long after he'd done the job. Not like they had with that kid. And somehow he knew hers would be louder, too loud for one ride around the plantation to dissolve.

As he'd warned, the boy had stayed real ghostlike for those last couple of months, but Billy reckoned Yvette wasn't going to just disappear where he'd never have to see her face. She was too useful, expensive. Calvin wouldn't just toss 12,000 in the fields, but he wouldn't kill her either. What exactly did he want him to do?

From the bright look in Calvin's eyes, there was mischief brewing.

It was Billy's job to discipline her, though it'd really be Calvin's rage behind any damage he inflicted. Knowing Yvette, soft and unscathed as she was, she wouldn't be able to differentiate the whip from the man behind it. The thought of seeing those dark eyes casting away in his presence bugged Billy more than it should.

And once again, it shouldn't matter. _Did._

Calvin must have finished thinking for he rose from the desk.

"Just don't leave no permanent marks," He said, "She cost too much to damage yet. But make it...memorable"

Already a plan skittered across Billy's brain. Eyes shifting, his chin dropped into a nod. No marks, Calvin said. He could work with that.

"I'mma take her back," Billy said, backing a step toward the door. "What I do won't be easy on the eyes. Can't have your delicate guests faintin' and what not."

Calvin smiled big.

_Look at all those pretty, pretty teeth. _

A smirk touched Billy's mouth and Calvin's smile widened, interpreting Billy's as in accord with his own.

"You always been good with the niggers," Calvin said. As he turned his back, his gaze dropped, shoulders pulling in.

It made Billy wonder, but not daring enough to press, he tipped his hat and left.

White men bustled through the club, fancy-dressed ponies at their sides. They laughed and made eyes, touched, whispered against each other's mouths. Some were even pressed to the walls, practically fucking in standing positions for how they groped and rubbed. Billy looked away at all that. He was about to see Yvette. Didn't need the image of himself and the girl shoved against a wall, his hand roaming up the dirty dress he'd last seen her in, feeling for what other things she was hiding up there. Billy's stomach took a suicide dive through his loins.

_Goddammit Billy, you need a lay. _

Heading up the stairs, his jeans felt starchy, stiff against his legs. He could feel eyes on his back. They judged his dusty clothes, his clotting boots. So what if he didn't feel like dressing up? This was meant to be a quick visit. Work, not pleasure.

Jerking his neck, Billy sighed as it gave a satisfying pop. He repeated the action with the other side. His plan wasn't all there yet, but as he moved down the hall, the kinks in his neck and plan started to work themselves out.

Billy pushed open the gold doors to the Mandingo room, instinctively cutting to the spot where the niggers fought. There weren't any tonight as he knew since Calvin wasn't overseeing it, and as he began to look away, paused. Something caught his eye.

Poufy hair in the bow; it was obviously Coco. She sat in the couch, lips close to the ear of a woman beside her. A woman with primped up dark curls that flowed against a slice of golden-warmed skin. His girl.

With a big release of breath, Billy pitched forward.

"_Yvette_," he barked. Both women startled, bumping shoulders as they scrambled off the couch.

Heads turned and under the curious eyes, Crash hardened his features, fists bolted to his hips.

Yvette perched in a curtsy and Coco stood awkwardly beside her, hands clutching the ends of that aggravating circle thing called a dress.

"Hi, Billy," she said, voice quiet and eyes on her shoes.

"Excuse me," he murmured, and nearly knocked the girl off balance trying to get around her to reach Yvette.

Billy clutched her wrist and the skin sunk under his hands. Why'd she have to be so soft? He'd feel less unnecessary guilt if she was tougher to the touch. It was what did him in the first time they made real contact. Riding on the horse to Candieland, her little buttery fingers melting into his chest. He wanted to drop her wrist so he could drop the thoughts, but he couldn't break role. Jerking her forward, Yvette stumbled before falling in step behind him. She looked back at the surprised Coco, glanced up at Billy.

"What are you**—**"

"Hush, gal."

Yvette clamped her mouth shut. As they reached the doors Billy nudged her past them, facing the room. Everyone watched, murmuring amongst each other. Their bodies relaxed as if to watch a good show.

"Now, don't worry, ya'll,' Billy said. He pointed a finger at the door, Yvette's figure framed in it. "She the new girl. Gotta break her in."

He winked, earning himself hoots from the group of men, giggles from their female companions.

Calvin's woman Sheba was reclined on the couch, and though her lids were low, amusement played in her eyes.

"Treat her _real _good, Billy," she called, raising her glass.

Billy tipped his hat and swept out of that place.

Oh, he would, all right.

* * *

Yvette was becoming quite distrustful of appearances.

First Monsieur Calvin, and now this Billy.

She'd heard Coco's stories about the Monsieur. A man with many emotions, grinning one moment and slamming his hand into drinking glasses the next. Judging from tonight's behavior and in the tales, Monsieur Calvin was a 30-something boy in grown up's clothes. Nothing short of a kid stuck in an adult body.

But now Billy Crash had her reworking impressions too.

"Let's go," He mumbled, latching onto her wrist again.

She thought Billy Crash was the nice guy. The nicest she'd met since leaving North and definitely easier to deal with than Monsieur Candie. Billy seemed straightforward, impartial. In ways, she'd felt safer in his presence than in Calvin's. Because Calvin; he was dangerous. The man dressed his slaves in pretty gowns and colors, but it was like he slathered oil on the dirty truth of his trade. The man owed bodies. He might wag them about like prizes, but they were still imprisoned. Property.

Calvin looked bright and joyous on the outside, but that sunshine smile was only hiding his dark roots. Though obviously her nice guy Billy wasn't so nice after all either. He never pretended to be clean though, wasn't hiding the grime on his boots. So perhaps her surprise has no grounds.

Still, she hadn't done anything to the man. Not to deserve his rough treatment. As he hurried her down the steps, she thought on what he'd said to the room about breaking her in. In a place like the Cleopatra Club, it didn't take her many guesses to interpret that. Plus wasn't that her profession now, taking up after the girl Brunhilde? Yvette gulped. What with Crash's earlier talk about hard-ons, their only destination could be a bedroom.

Billy's grip loosened as he paused on the middle of the steps. Yvette collapsed into his side at his sudden stop and shot a glare up at him, a retort at the edge of her lips. She was beyond irritated, tired of being pulled around and definitely not looking forward to being used and tossed aside. But Billy wasn't looking at her, instead staring at something beyond her shoulder, his eyes narrowed.

When she saw who he was looking at, Yvette's breathing knotted up.

He watched them from below, an unmoving figure among the traffic that flowed around him. This interruption definitely wasn't saving grace, for she'd rather face a desirous man over a hot-blooded one, and the last time she'd faced Monsieur Calvin Candie, he was boiling.

A cigarette sat between his teeth. As he blew out smoke, rolled up to the ceiling. Yvette's nose wrinkled at the heavy smell. True, the odor permeated all the club's walls, but the direct shot up the nose burned.

"They didn't smoke much on that French farm of yours, Yvette?" Monsieur Calvin asked.

A tingle touched her spine in the way his voice softened at her name.

His face displayed no anger, no fury. He has an open look in his eyes, something bordering on kindness. She didn't trust it. She'd learned in a short time that her master was a man of duplicity, able to parade a front for the moment, a mask.

When she'd spoken French to him, she'd chipped a bit of that mask away. He must have collected himself in the time he left the Mandingo room until now, glued it all in place. For here he was, revealing nothing but what he wanted her to see. Interest. Curiosity. Sincerity.

A man with his emotions branded on his sleeve and yet an expert of covering up the label. What was she to think of him, how could she act to please him?

Then she remembered Coco's words. Sweet. Be sweet.

She could try that again. Dipping her head, she curtsied as best she could on the staircase. Her hip bumped into Billy's and he made a noise and slid away. He faced the pictures on the wall, eyes flashing from her to Calvin then back to the guests milling through the foyer.

_He looks uncomfortable_, Yvette thought, frowning, then let the thought dissolve. She didn't have time to worry about him, especially after he snatched her up like that, intent of using her.

Finishing her curtsy, she looked down at Calvin.

"The Belisle family smoked, but their tobacco was not as...strong as yours." Yvette said.

_There, that's all I got. Is that flattering enough? Men liked being linked to strong, right?_

He just nodded.

"I smoke the most concentrated tobacco they offer in all Greenville, Mississippi," Calvin said. "The thicker the output, the better."

He drew the cigarette from his lips, released a hazy breath. Thick smoke billed up from the end, twisting and dancing up to Yvette's face. She tightened her lips, her nose curling at the smoke's invasion. It touched her eyes and she winced at the burn, her teeth clinking together in a hiss.

"Did that hurt you?"

Yvette couldn't see behind her stinging eyes, but Calvin's voice was pitched with exaggerated concern.

Sweeping at her watering eyes, she tried her best to wash out the residue. In the meantime her mind worked, clocking away for the right response. She couldn't find it; the sting mounted to the forefront plus the growing anxiety defiling her stomach. Calvin's mask was chipping away now, and she was afraid to see the face underneath.

"I apologize if it burns," He said. "You'll have to get used to it though."

"Having smoke blown in my eyes?" Yvette feared venom may have risen in her voice but it was too late now; the words just popped out, her irritation fueled by the scorch.

"No, Dollface," Calvin chuckled, teeth clinched around the cigarette. "Pain. Ain't that right, Crash?"

Billy had a grimace on his lips but arranged it into a smirk as he turned to Calvin, nodded.

"Thanks for taking care of our new negro, Crash. But before ya'll go, bring her over to me."

After a moment, Billy curved his fingers around Yvette's wrist again, tugging her down the rest of the steps. So Billy wasn't acting on his own when he took her away. But of course not. He worked for Calvin.

Plus, he was white.

And she was black. The black slave that'd ticked off her Master. Obviously "breaking in" didn't mean what she'd thought. He wouldn't want her like that. She also knew taking care didn't mean a soft touch either. Pain, Calvin said.

Pain.

Fear dropped like rocks in her stomach.

Calvin sauntered over when they made it to the floor, tapping out the lit edge of his cigarette on the hem of his suit. Neighboring rooms boomed with laughter and rapid piano playing, but Yvette's heartbeats surpassed the piano. It was just her in the hall now, Billy, and Calvin. Calvin stopped close to Yvette, so close that she had to draw her chin straight up to see his face. The blue of his eyes were dark.

"You break my rules, you pay for it," He said.

Panic rose in her throat. Was this something she could sweeten her way out of? She had to try. It was her only hope.

"I-I didn't know what I was doing, Monsieur Candie," Yvette forced a load of uncertainty in her voice. Sugary stupidity. "I'm not that quick, you see. Just being a nigger girl."

At that, she propped out her bottom lip, looked up at Calvin with the most pitiful gaze she could muster. It wasn't hard, for the air was still smoky and her eyes watered again.

Calvin's breath shortened, his pupils diluted. He closed his eyes to her and when they opened, the dark blue ice was back.

"Unfortunately for you, I don't think with my sack." Calvin murmured. He stepped away and with it took a heat Yvette hadn't even realized he radiated; a lukewarm feeling stuck to her skin at his parting. "And you didn't seem so slow when you was twisting up them verses in the Mandingo room. You niggers come in all shapes and shades. Some of you really is empty-headed, aint got a thought in your head but to nod and take order. But then there's them clever niggas, niggers like**—**"

"Da-jango." Billy finished, snorting.

Calvin nodded at the name offering.

"'Zactly. Tricky niggers like Django. So let me warn you now, little Yvette. Don't think all your sweet talk is gonna get you anywhere with me. Flattery taste good, but the bitter taste of a scam is stronger. And I got a tongue for it now." He waved out a hand. "Now if you be honest, I be honest. We both got brains in our skulls, believe it or not."

He laughed, the sound grating. Who could keep up with this man? Right now he was calling for honestly. No lies, no sweet talk, but did he really want that? He talked about not liking tricks, but was this a trick itself?

Yvette pushed back her shoulders, the sting of the cigarette ash in her eyes keeping her unbalanced. She wasn't about to throw out her plans. She had no reason to be honest with this man. Still, the sweet act wasn't exactly foolproof.

As Calvin watched her, the crinkles around his eyes got soft, not strained as when he wore his mask. Was this his true face?

"Come now. What's working in that brain? I know it ain't as empty as you claimed. Don't be shy, Yvette."

Ah, he said her name all gentle again.

_Maybe I _should_ be honest._ _If that's what he really wants._ _He might pardon me and I can avoid whatever pain he's got waiting for me._

She thought of that Sheba woman. Sipping from full bottles of wine, lounging on a couch like a queen unfolded in her throne, even screaming at Calvin without getting slapped. Yvette wasn't on her level, but Sheba was Calvin's property too. If that woman exercised so many freedoms, perhaps Yvette had the right to some as well. With the joyful music humming through the club, catching the glimpses of colored and white people together singing and dancing, a strange optimism buzzed in her. Even if this wasn't the real world, perhaps between these four walls she could actually speak her mind. Act like a woman with nothing to lose. Could be herself.

Why not try it?

So finally, she answered him.

"You make me curious," Yvette admitted.

Calvin blinked.

"Oh?"

"Yes." She took a deep breath then carried on. "A man who goes by Monsieur but cannot speak French. It makes me wonder what else you might be hiding, right on your face."

Calvin went quiet, still. Then he started to move, carving out the shape of a horseshoe around Yvette in his pacing.

When Calvin moved further away, Billy gave a soft curse. Yvette glanced up at him, brows raised.

"Damn it girl," he murmured. "That's not the honestly he was looking for."

Yvette blinked, surprised he was talking to her at all.

"But he asked," she said.

"So?"

Billy still had her by the wrist, but it wasn't that tight arresting grip. He watched Calvin carefully, shifting in his spot with Calvin's circling as if to place himself constantly between Yvette and Calvin. It was like he was keeping her away from him. Shielding. Her heart skipped. But why? She knew Candie was unstable but he didn't look angry at the moment, just thoughtful. She'd played by his rules. He was okay with that. Right?

And why would Billy protect her from him anyways? He was more than happy to get her out of here to take her closer to the "breaking in."

Yvette had the urge to scrub her fists against her temples, maybe chafe some sense into it. For, at the moment, nothing else was making it.

"Are you insinuating…" Calvin started, "That I'm compensatin' for my unlettered tongue with a French title?"

"Well," Yvette clasped her hands together, thinking about it. Then she opened her palms up with a shrug. "Yeah?"

Calvin stopped pacing. He moved around Billy who'd been standing in front of her, approaching by Yvette's side. That heat was back, like a simmering presence between them. The man really was hot-blooded. So much that it radiated right off his skin.

"Touché." Calvin said. He paused for a beat. "Now there's a French word I know."

Yvette couldn't help but smile, and Calvin's mouth stretched into a grin of its own. Instinctively, her gaze fell onto his teeth, her eyelids folding with part skepticism, part disgust. The silver bits glimmered off the gold light glazing over the foyer. It was especially hard not to notice when he was smiling so big, parading the decaying teeth for the world to gape at.

His smile dissolved.

"I have a curiosity of my own."As he got even closer, Billy's hand wrapped around Yvette's wrist again, holding there as if to run off with her at any minute. "Why you think my teeth look this way?"

Now this felt like dangerous territory. From her judgment, Calvin was now in a dangerous mood. Balancing on amused and angry. What she answered could push him over either one of the ledges.

"Um…"

She glanced up at Billy_._

_Okay, my nice guy. You didn't agree with my honestly. What do I say to this? _

His chin was turned to the wall as if he didn't care what was happening, but he gave a little shake of his head as if to warn her to not say anything. Well, she couldn't just ignore Calvin, she thought.

"Are we still on that honesty policy?" she asked.

"But, of course." Monsieur smiled, revealing those teeth again. "So if you say something sweet, I'll say try again. Now tell me how you think these chompers came to be?"

Billy was looking right at Yvette now, his brows caved over his eyes. He didn't have to say a word; she took the hint. _Don't fall for it. Don't trust it. Just shut up._

But it was too late.

All the freedom from before made the words fall out before she could keep them in check.

"It must be those concentrated cigarettes," Yvette blurted. "Or all that candy."

There's a crack, tense silence, and then Billy burst. He guffawed for a good minute, clutching his stomach, cheeks red and blowing out air. Yvette stood there, wide-eyed. A funny little tickle surmounting in her chest. Not the urge to laugh with him, no, it was to crawl in a ditch and pull the dirt over her head.

Calvin's face calmed to a low tide. He hadn't even blinked at her words nor at Billy's laughing. But his eyes were too bright for his face, too hard in contrast to the slack jaw.

Yvette picked at the edge of her dress and kept her eyes down. Billy was still laughing his guts out, but stopped enough to lay a hand on Calvin's shoulder.

"It was classic, what she said there." he said before clearing his throat, getting himself under his control. "Just...classic."

Calvin's lips pulled up halfway. It was half snarl, half grin.

Billy wasn't laughing anymore. Sobering, he straightened, tight lipped and ashen.

Yvette bit her lip, eyes flashing from Billy to Calvin.

"I think ya'll should head back to Candieland now," Calvin said. He was a roused volcano, pending eruption. "Time you took good care of _Yvette_."

From the way her name was spat he might as well have just called her nigger.

"Sure thing." Billy said.

As Billy wrapped his hand around Yvette's forearm, her head felt light, and it wasn't that strawberry champagne. For all Billy's helpful hints and all her evasion, nothing had changed.

And she'd still be punished. Painfully.

Before she could leave, Calvin captured Yvette's chin. He raised it with his fingertips, observing her face from all sides. With a final grunt, he smiled, though it was tight lipped, his teeth hidden.

"If I hadn't already bought you off the Gentleman, I'd have to steal you."

Calvin kissed her on the mouth, hard and quick, then dropped her chin and walked away.

He left the taste of tobacco on her lips.

* * *

Hello, everyone,

I know it's been a bit compared to how fast I was updating before. That was because I was on a _super_ long winter break. But university has started up again, my last semester and then I am done with college! And I have 18 credits to concentrate on so I'll definitely be busy. Despite this all, I've been truly aching to write! I'm predicting my workload will level out in the future but until then I won't be able to update as fast, so please be patient with me!

I will definitely keep writing this as long as people are still interested in reading. My goal is to update at least twice a month, if not more as my obligations loosen. If they don't, I'll try to produce longer(ish) chapters to make up for it. So that's all. Also, I'd love to know what you thought. I was nervous about this one. It took some time, the characters wanting to act in ways I hadn't expected. Big plans for all of these guys and their tangled relationships in the future…

_~Yellowspotlight89 _


	7. Fire and Rain

_**Daydreamer, with eyes that make you melt. He lends his coat for shelter because he's there for you when he shouldn't be. But he stays, all the same, waits for you then sees you through.**_

Django Unchained: Chapter 7

This picture looked real familiar. Him and her again at a stable, with the slave hand passing over his horse's reins.

It wasn't a perfect match to the memory, though. Instead of drawing his horse out to a sweltering blue sky, darkness caped the area. The wind played up the dust in cool, slow drifts. Yvette waited by the door, half hidden from view.

Billy stalled his horse beside her with hand at his hip. Her focus remained beyond his shoulder, posture stiff. Derisively, Billy shook his head. They were so close to avoiding this, but the girl was a smart alec. True, Calvin lured her into the hole, but she hardly took a glance before leaping right into the snarl.

And at that point there wasn't rope long enough to pull her out.

He'd tried his best. Told her with gesture more than words to keep her mouth shut. Well, she chose to do things her away and here they were now. About to settle back on his horse, destination Candieland.

Except he wasn't just dropping off cargo this time.

"Follow," Billy said over his shoulder. He tugged the horse forward and it grunted from the picked up pace.

Billy didn't look back but listened. Hesitation, and then Yvette's flat shoes pounded across the dirt to catch up. Tension molded his back once she stopped beside him. His neck was plastic as he twisted it from his shoulders and then turned to look at the girl he was supposed to discipline.

She had her face bent away, giving him only the top of her head. The wind was gentle and her light curls shifted like waves against the bare shoulders. The moonlight provided enough glow to see the bones curved through her back and winds nudged the skirts flat to her hips, revealing the mold of petite, but well-shaped thighs.

He almost felt bad for staring like he was, but rethought it. Who was he to act ashamed? A few yards back a clubhouse of men clawed over ponies. Unlike them, Billy just observed, wasn't acting on the urges to touch as they did. The world wasn't pretty and it was a man's right to stare at nice looking things when they came around. whether that man chose to act was his prerogative, and Billy wasn't going to act.

_I'm just looking. No harm to it._

But as he surveyed up and down, it didn't stop his mind from picturing things. His gaze dropped onto her legs as he revived a thought of him and her, tangled up against a Cleopatra Club wall.

He bet her form would fit just right on his, small against his tall thin stature. Her legs would bolt around his waist, squeeze him hard and tight. He would cup her smooth bottom in his callused hands and savor the scraping texture…

Everything tightened on his body, particularly the groin.

Ugh.

_Enough, Crash. _

Ignoring the stiff swell in his jeans, Billy motioned for Yvette to come near. She did, and in one sweep settled on the back of the horse, sinking into the saddle. With a breath, he swung himself over the horse's back, shifting about awkwardly.

Ridiculous, all these wooden ones he'd gotten lately. It transported him back to an earlier time, adolescence where even the scent of a woman's cologne stirred him up. But a grown man like him, getting locked up over some little negro girl? It'd been happening all day, though. First on their drop off to Candieland, when she had her hands against his chest and her head on his back. then a brief stirring at the Club and now with the reverie he'd just continued.

Billy knew there'd only be one way to ease the tension, another adolescent practice he would have to utilize later.

Alone, in a dark room.

Fully adjusted and comfortable enough, Billy clicked tongue against teeth and the horse began to trot. He squeezed his legs against its sides and it picked up speed. Soon they galloped off the Cleopatra property, licking up the miles toward Candieland.

They passed through clustered town buildings in such a blur that even if the drunkards loitering the streets paid attention, they wouldn't know it was a nigger girl on the back of the horse.

Speaking of the girl…

Billy rolled his eyes. As in their earlier ride, Yvette wasn't touching him and clinched the saddle as if that would keep her steady. She likely had more energy than when they rode under the heat, but if his horse bucked she'd be a crumbled mess at its stomping hooves.

"Slow down a bit, Sandman," Billy said to him, voice soothing. Sandman responded to the soft tone and slowed his speed, still moving fast enough to flip Yvette off if they jerked, though.

When Yvette chuckled from behind him, Billy balled a hand to his thigh, sentiments dueling for supremacy. On one hand he was pissed. What the hell was she laughing for? There wasn't anything funny in the near future. Secondly, his body was still acting up, and the breathy sound of her laugh had jolted straight through his breeches.

"What you laughin at?" he finally snapped, glancing back.

"Sandman," Yvette said. "That's an interesting name."

Billy's knuckles milked white with tension. His anger was winning this battle, budding through his chest. The horse's name was the least of her worries. One misstep and she'd be thrown off with no prayer to mend her. She shouldn't have time to find Sandman's name amusing, let alone laugh.

"And you gonna be an interesting heap in the mud if you don't use my waist to keep steady," he said. His teeth clenched. "You think this is a game? You so scared of what's waitin at the plantation that you itchin to _die_?"

Sandman huffed at Billy's tone, and jerked its torso. Yvette yelped, and Billy felt her bounce as her weight slipped away. Cursing loudly, his mind flashed but his panic settled down as he saw she hadn't fallen. She'd slanted over in the saddle, fisting the flaps hard in order to stay on. Billy used one hand to pull her up, the other twisted around the reins.

Billy righted her light body with just a fraction of effort, but the call was close enough to get the blood throbbing through his ears.

Damn this.

Damn her.

No one should make him worry like that, make him think twice about their life. He didn't even worry about his papa, who was edging towards death with every passing day. Billy was one to accept nature's plan, go with the flow, not try to fight it.

But in that moment he would have fought a whole lot more to not let her fall.

This was definitely a problem.

And the worst part; the girl _still _wasn't holding onto him.

"Calvin said you wasn't stupid, but I'm thinking you really are empty-headed." Billy glared at the girl from over his shoulder. "Now hold onto me this time. Now."

But Yvette wasn't having any of it. With a stiff chin, she sprawled her hands across Sandman, her knees digging deep into the saddle sides.

With a wayward rise of an eyebrow, she glared at him.

"It's your fault, you know." She said.

Billy couldn't believe it.

"I _saved_ you."

Her sigh was exasperated.

"Not that. I had it under control back with Monsieur Candie. I was playing by his rules and doing pretty good but then you laughed and made him mad again. That's why he's having me punished."

Billy turned to face forward, needing to make sure they didn't ride into a tree, though all he wanted to do was challenge the hot eyes glaring at him right back.

She had it all wrong.

After they were clear of the trees and the land opened up, he turned back around.

"If I'm not mistaken, I helped your ass. Even tried to lead you out of the hole you was already dug up in. But no. You didn't keep your mouth shut and smile like I warned ya."

"As I said, my approach was working. He would have let the teeth comment slide if—"

"You don't know what he woulda done."

Yvette's mouth parted to protest, but he interrupted her with a head shake.

"I grew up with Calvin, been friends since school. Even then you never knew what might lay you in his graces or kick you out of it. From watching I learned the most successful people don't do nothing, just like one stand still in front of a rattlesnake. Doesn't make sudden moves. Should slowly back away.

"But you teased that snake, girl. Toed at it. Sure, Calvin mighta eaten up some of your talk. Liked it. But a rattlesnake is a rattlesnake and you would have been bit regardless. Still would be on the back of this horse, getting brought back for disciplining."

Yvette sat quiet, her head tilted to the side. She was still holding her own on the horse without touching him. The sight made him uneasy. Not just because she wasn't holding onto him, but the curious quiet she'd slipped into. It wasn't a subdued quiet. She was thinking.

Eventually, she righted her face, looking at him with hardened eyes.

"This afternoon I assumed after your French quiz that I was supposed to talk in it. I could have used a warning that I wasn't."

Something dropped in Billy's stomach, flattening his gut.

He had forgotten about that slip-up.

A quiet spread over them as they rode. Even with Yvette inches behind him, Billy was alone in a depth of thoughts. This ultimately was his fault, as she accused. How was she to know the crazy rules of Calvin Candie? Naturally she'd assume that it'd impress him to speak French. And he forgot to outline that you only talk it around him, not to him.

The plantation appeared, the land beneath their feet transformed to soil. Sugarcanes rose around them, field niggers grazing about in the night and looking up at the arrivals with the wide eyes they had when he and Yvette first rode in. Billy directed the horse to the cabin he knew to be vacant.

Yvette braced herself behind him, and if she were held against Billy he knew he'd feel her heart pounding something awful.

She still thought he would punish her, and from her soft upbringing likely had no idea what sort of treatment this would be. Well, Billy had no intentions on hurting her. But intentions, no matter how good, didn't always go as planned.

Calvin would want results. A mental impression, he'd said. And no lasting visible marks.

It was almost like he was testing Crash to see what he'd do to her, if he would go through with it or cover it up.

Billy snorted. Calvin might be crazy, but he likely meant what he said. Calvin wanted Yvette to yield so he could mold her to his likings. If Billy broke her mind up for him, she'd be pre-packaged for his control. This was more likely Calvin's intention more than a trick him.

Still, Billy wasn't up to playing _any_ of these games.

"Tell you what," he said to her, slowing the horse to a gradual pace. "How about we do some acting."

Yvette's brows set.

"Pretend to go through with this, you're saying?"

"Yeah. Since this is partly my fault…" She gave him a look and his mouth cracked into a slim smile. "Alright, more than just a part, if we make enough racket up in the cabin ahead, we might convince any standerbys that you got your disciplining. Deal?"

The tension in her form gentled.

"Deal."

"But you gotta be convincing. Not just to these witnesses." He flicked a hand out towards the slaves. "But to Calvin. He'll want a girl thoroughly punished. Scared. So no more of that smart talk when you see him, alright?"

"_Yes_," She sounded winded, as if the pending tension of pain had knotted her up more than she'd shown and his words had finally loosened it.

He half smirked at being the one to free her, then startled as he felt her arms wind around him, head pressed against his back. She really was exhausted and now that they settled on something, felt enough trust to lie on him.

Billy settled the horse into an even slower walk. Sandman's hooves just barely toed the soil. A silly thought mused that this was how the whole ride should have been like. Her pressed to his back and arms around him, and he was a tad remorseful as it drew to its close.

Words hovered from their tongues, buzzing against an invisible channel and begging to be exchanged. But no one broke the quiet between them. Her hands still rested on Billy's chest, a smooth touch against the rough hide of his vest. Billy stopped the horse at a thick-trunked tree near the cabin. It was Brunhilde's old lodging, out of the fields enough to show she wasn't no field nigger and near enough to the big house to be sighted from the balcony.

They didn't move for a while, just sat there on the horse's back. But then the whispers of the field slaves reached their ears, and Billy straightened out from her hands.

Falling right into role, he leapt off the horse and snatched Yvette down with him. She exclaimed, and he stared at her with narrowed eyes. Billy lunged his chest at her, fist raised to make her flinch. But she just held her ground, didn't even blink.

"Yous about to get disciplined," Billy said between his teeth. "So act like it."

"Oh. Ooh!" Yvette said, crouching into a ball with hands wrapped around her head.

Billy might have laughed if this was actually a joke, but it wasn't. Her delayed performance wouldn't earn her any awards, and it definitely wouldn't win favors now. Still, from her curled position, the line of sugarcanes hid her. Using that, he pulled back his booted foot and kicked at the dirt. Yvette did flinch at that, uncurling from her ball to avoid his kick.

Billy kicked again and she rolled out of the way.

"You like that, don't cha," he projected loud enough for the nearest slaves to hear. They slowly made their way closer, necks stretched as to see what was happening. "Now get the hell up. I don't care if you're bleeding. Still aint done with you!"

Billy hauled her from the ground and booted the cabin door open. He pushed her into the darkened space, giving himself an inner nod.

Going better, so far. He only wished these were different circumstances. Not where he had to make enough noise to pretend to beat her. Not shouting or tossing her about like some baby doll.

No, he wished they were together for the sake of doing things a man and women did when they were alone.

In a dark room.

* * *

Yvette sought the only light in the blackened space. A tiny window gaped from above, moonlight forming a small pond on a bed. Making her way to it, her body gave into the surface. Billy had left her alone but she could hear him cursing and posturing outside the cabin as he tied up Sandman.

Running hands across her skirt, she patted off the dirt. It came off easy and rolled to the floor. Releasing a breath, she waited.

Despite the exhaustion dragging her limbs, her heart went wild in her chest.

She didn't know what to expect when Nice guy Billy was back.

He'd decided to spar her.

Yes, this whole deal was his fault. But even then, the deed was done and it was still his duty to discipline her. Perhaps he just had strong moral. Mom talked about that sometimes. They called it southern hospitality down here. Still, did that hospitality extend to niggers?

She shifted on the bed, the floor creaking with her movement. The space was small, smelling of damp wood and mildew. Otherwise it was the same temperature as outside. Neither hot nor cold and cooler than the past few days she'd spent in Mississippi. No longer a hog's breath humidity.

She'd begun to learn the corners of the room when the door opened. She only caught a glimpse of Billy's form in hat, vest, and jeans before the closing door cut off the light. He was a moving shadow in the black, pacing the small space.

In the darkness, he wasn't white and she wasn't black. They were just people now, two humans sharing the same air, breathing as humans do.

Billy pulled away from the shadows, the moonlight milk on his face.

"Okay," he finally said. "Let's see what we got to work with." He moved closer. "You got any scratches, fresh marks?"

"Uh..."

Grazing a hand across her bare arms, Yvette felt around for any markings or scrapes. There was a cut on her inner arm, already closing up with new skin. Then she remembered something that might work. The press of the bed softened the irritation, but being thrown about on the way to Mississippi had hurt her hip.

"I may have a bruise." She glanced up at him, then away.

"Let's see it then," Billy said.

"But it's on my—"

"Just show me."

Yvette bit her lip as she lifted her skirts. She kept a palm across her lap to keep the front down, but revealed just a sliver of the hip she'd banged during the ride. Billy stared at her, nostrils dilated. His eyes ran up and down her exposed leg, calf to thigh, before settling onto the hip. Yvette swallowed, the weight of his gaze on her body like a heavy petting, stroking her up and down, slow and gentle. Tremors touched the fingertips that held the skirt for his observation.

"That's not good enough." Billy said, voice gruff.

Yvette's heart dropped. She supposed she didn't have the carved curves like that Sheba lady, but…

"A bruise is definitely there, just too faded. Already healing up."

Oh.

Yvette felt like slapping herself. Of course, the bruise. Her mind had taken a far course off the road from the subject at hand. He wasn't looking at her for looks, but to check for an injury.

Yvette set her skirt back in place as Billy leaned on his back heel, chin turned toward the window above her head.

"Survey the rest of you. Maybe if you got something else we can work with."

Yvette checked herself as Billy watched the moonlight coming in from the window. Occasionally he kicked the foot of the bed and cursed, likely an attempt to make it sound like they weren't just talking over tea in the cabin.

She surveyed her neck, legs, neck, chest, everywhere in search of some sort of fresh mark. There wasn't anything. She told him just that, and he groaned.

"Come _on_. Gotta give me something to work with. Hmph." He rubbed a hand across his unshaved jaw. "But I suppose if you look shaken enough, Calvin will believe I slapped you a bit. Or scared ya. Get up."

Yvette did, following Billy's every motion as he circled the space around her, his boots trudging against the creaky wooden floors.

"We're going to need some more of your bad acting. Just good this time."

Yvette's lips twitched as she fought back a smile.

"It wasn't bad acting. You just didn't scare me."

Amusement touched Billy's features. He crossed his arms over his chest.

"I didn't scare you, huh." He snatched up her arm, shook her until her teeth slammed together. "Is this scary?"

"Y-yes." She said. Very terrifying.

"Louder," he whispered.

"Yes!"

He let her go and she fell back against the bed, legs flying up. Billy chuckled, and her determination firmed. She rose up from the comforter, fists tight.

"Please don't do that again! I'm…I'm so scared!" She shouted. Then with a flat tone, added. "Not."

That made him laugh again, but he cut it off, eyes narrowed.

"You should be scared. This a plantation, not a funhouse." He rammed his elbow into the wall. He gave her a look, telling her to react.

"Ahhhh!" she screamed.

Billy shook his head.

"That sounds so fake."

"Ahh. Ahhh. Ahhh!"

"Now it sounds like we makin love. This aint gonna work, Yvette."

"I'm trying," she said, throwing her hair off her shoulder with a grunt. She just wasn't feeling it. The corners of Billy mouth were twitching, his eyes touched with too much humor for her to be serious. As all those other times with him, she was feeling safe. There wasn't the threat of Calvin's wrath here, and Billy's presence protected her; her body wasn't fooled by his acting.

Then she watched a plan fortify in his shifting jaw. He nudged the wall again, hard, and this time, it startled Yvette. Hardness coated his eyes as he looked at her. His mouth was mean, his face distant. He didn't look like Nice Guy Billy anymore.

Just another white man who looked down at her existence.

"You're a slave, Yvette. Get that. You serve us." He brought his face down, close to her. "Whites."

Her body was not used to this acting. It felt too real, familiar.

Yvette's eyes fell low, her lip trembling.

"I know I'm a slave," she said.

"You don't know nothing!" Billy hissed.

Yvette flinched away as if to escape his words, but his voice was suffocating, squeezing all the air out of the cabin.

"You're all good for nothing because ya'll are nothing. Understand that, nigger."

The tight ball in her stomach snapped, and Yvette let go.

She hollered at him. Screamed right into his face, her lungs unleashing fire and rain. Billy remained a block. He let her pour those screams in his face, the agonized curl roaring over his form, spittle landing on his cheek and eyebrow. She slumped when her voice made a final whimper, dying out. Her body dropped to the bed like a pound of stones, and she clutched her elbows in shaky hands, head bent. She hadn't faked that scream. It was real, the pain twisting in her and exploding.

Like a curtain, wetness enveloped her eyes, but she blinked fast enough to extinguish them.

This was reality and she needed to deal with it. She _was_ a slave. And he was white and free with commands over her. That was the truth, and she wouldn't let him see her cry about it. No one would. A sniffle threatened. She wrinkled her nose and held her breath, but it still escaped.

"Hey," Billy said. "Hey now."

She turned her head further to the side, cutting him out of her view.

"Not this again. I don't like you ignoring me."

"So beat me, then. Exercise your god-given powers over niggers like me."

Billy sighed, breath falling like a heavy cloud on Yvette's head. He didn't sound happy. More like miserable, exhausted. Then she felt him pause in front of her and lower to his knees. Her neck was stretched so far towards the wall that veins bulged against her throat.

"Your head aint got nowhere else to go, dollface." Billy said.

"Yes it does," she mumbled and turned her chin to her lap to stare at that instead.

Billy seized her chin with his fingers, drawing it up. Yvette just closed her eyes, refusing to look at him.

"You're worse than a toddler mad that someone took her toy."

"I don't play with toys," She snapped. "Or dusty white boys that throw their authority in my face."

Billy ground his teeth together, his hand still on her chin.

"So it worked, then."

"Yeah." She crossed her arms to force him to back up, for he was leaning so close to her. He didn't move away and her elbows bumped into chest. She unfolded them with a huff. "Anything else you need, Master Crash?"

His eyes narrowed.

"Don't call me that."

"And why not?"

"Cuz I aint your master and don't want to be. Look, wasn't it your smart mouth that got you in trouble? Don't forget you supposed to be scarred, not jabbing at me, and definitely not Calvin when you see him."

"And how was what I said a jab?"

"Callin me master like that. I don't own no niggers and never had in my life. Well, my daddy did. Does. But none of that was me. Don't blame me for the world I grew up in."

Yvette opened her eyes to stare at him. Some sort of war broke out on his face. He was tangled up in thoughts, wrestling memories.

She could tell. Her anger vanished.

"You're not like all the rest," she said, the truth sparking in her brain. "You really are Nice Guy Billy."

That flung him out of his musing. He let go of Yvette to look at her full on.

"Nice Guy Billy," He repeated. "Is that what you been callin me?"

"Just in my head!" she said, cheeks suddenly hot. "And only sometimes. When you'd said or done something…nice."

"Oh really. Like what?" He kept his tone plain but Yvette could see the keenness in his eyes. Interest. He really wanted to know.

She smirked a little.

"Like not dragging me to Candieland by rope. And giving me help with Calvin—"

"Which you ignored."

She exhaled.

"Yeah, yeah. Then, on the horse you didn't let me crack my neck. And finally. Right now. You're not actually beating me so…" She shrugged.

Billy's mouth was fighting a smile.

"Suppose those are nice things." He said. "Suppose I am the nice guy in all of this."

"Thank you." She blurted.

Billy paused. He chucked his chin down in a nod, pulling himself to his feet.

"Don't be mentioning it," was all he said, face turned away.

Yvette stood up.

"Of course not. I'm not as empty-headed as you think."

She jutted a finger out to poke his chest, but he caught it, shifting her fingers through his hands.

"I know," he said.

They stared hard at each other, long and quiet. Yvette's heart was completely calm, at rest. She felt like stretching out her limbs and curling up on the bed like one of the Belisle cats. And maybe using Billy's shoulder as a pillow.

It had to be the way he looked at her, that tenderness. She didn't know why, she was just a slave, but the look remained, and she could fall asleep to that look.

His gaze dropped to her lips then back to her eyes. Her heart pounded then, reminding her she was still very much awake. Billy came closer to her, so close the front of his jeans stirring her skirts. She had to tilt her chin to see him all the way. His body pressed dangerously against hers, she could feel the mold of his legs. Releasing her hand, he swept a curl out of her eye then trailed the finger down her cheek, pausing it at the swell of her lip.

They pursed on instinct, and his finger rose with the movement.

"Can't believe he kissed you," he murmured.

Yvette looked at him strangely.

"Huh?"

"Calvin. Kissing you."

O, right. Monsieur Calvin Candie. He had kissed her, hadn't he? Twice. The first time was an obvious shut up kiss, but that second one... It had the firmness of hello, but the briefness of goodbye. She wasn't too sure how to categorize it. It wasn't like it could be two things at once.

"He did it back in the room upstairs too..." She said, thinking aloud. "Sheba went crazy."

"I see." Billy said. Tension shifted through his jaw, as if he were chewing on it. The hard press of his body against hers fell away.

_What is this? Is he…nah._

Billy watched her close, but didn't say anything. His finger dropped away from her lips.

"You best get some sleep then. Who knows what Calvin got planned for you tomorrow."

Then Billy stepped back, mixing in with the shadows. When the door opened, it revealed the cut of his back slipping out of the cabin. His shoulders were stiff as he moved, disturbed, but he looked back at her once more, nodding with a thoughtful look before he slipped out of view.

Yvette stood there, staring out the open door. When the clomp of hooves riding away filled the air, she shut it.


	8. Too Close

**A/N:**

Some sexual details in this scene.

Also, not really a warning, but this chapter is lengthier than the rest, since I told you I'd try to make up for less frequent updating. I hope that's alright for you. I'll try to keep them as long as I usually do when I'm less frenzied, though. That is, unless people like this length best!

Hope you enjoy.

~_yellowspotlight89_

* * *

_**And every moment extends endlessly. It feels as though time isn't moving. And every second, hold breath not to breathe, and watch as he moves to the beat.**_

Last night's sweat hadn't had a chance to dry. It sat cold against his bare chest, sticky where he drew the sheet apart from his skin. Stillness clung to the room. Stillness so complete that Calvin didn't dare ripple it by moving. From gunk-crusted eyes he stared at the dawn seeping through the shutters. The pale light hinted at the brown red walls, gold tinged furnishings, expensive paintings.

It must've been about six in the morning, a few hours away from when he liked to start breakfast service. The French dined early and so did Calvin's household, though he wasn't an early riser.

He shouldn't have been awake. He'd still be snoring off the festivities from the afterhours if that dream hadn't thrown him out of sleep.

Without craning his neck, Calvin surveyed the sleeping woman at the far side of the bed. The lean formed stretched, half the face buried in the cushions. A hive of black hair whorled around the head. Calvin extended an arm, gradual as to not rock the room's stillness, and stroked the top of Sheba's exposed breast from underneath the sheets. She moaned gently, the twitch of a smirk falling into a grimace. She fell back to sleep.

Calvin wished he could follow, but was too disturbed. Didn't want that odd dream to pick up where it'd left off.

In the dream there were big, black letters. Loads of them. B's and C's and D's in life-size, humongous in girth. He wandered among the field of letters. It was his plantation fields, he thought, except with no sugarcanes. Nothing but dirt, endlessness, and letters. A lone B caught his eye, half sinking into the dirt. Bending, he tried to pull it up but it was rooted into the foundation. Grunting, Calvin rolled up his sleeves and dug his weight into the earth, pulled back with all his strength. His heels slid, a muscle popped, but finally the letter loosened. He flew back as it finally shrugged from the earth, bouncing with its own life. With the B came other letters. Each large black body spewing out like oil.

O. N. J. O. U. R.

Lead by B, the letters surrounded Calvin, forcing him into the center of their circle. They pounced. Calvin snarled as the letters beat at his head, barged their bodies against his ribs and shoulders. Calvin swung a weak punch, missed. He couldn't even fight back right, could only block as they came at him from all sides. And that's when laughter rose from beyond the letters. Laughter and a face.

Small and brown, the face hid behind a mane of dark spirals. It watched from outside the ring, blinks slow under thick lashes. _Yve…_his dream mind had started to form the name but the thought wouldn't cultivate.

The beatings got more forceful. O wrapping its form around Calvin's throat. N slamming its sharp corners into Calvin's core. He felt blood spilling under his shirt, but there were other pains to think out, like the swat of J against his arms, U and R's heavy beating on his face.

Calvin bellowed, hoisting both elbows as he charged from the ground. The force of the pack slammed him down again.

"Yye…Yvette!" he called out to the girl's watching face. "Get these damn letters off of me!"

Through the swell of a black eye, Calvin watched her step closer. Even under the pain he wasn't blind to her looks. A frame with fragile curves and a swooping waist. Big ole eyes that were shy and scared looking when he last saw them. But they weren't shy now. Nah, they were blank, passively watching as the letters beat him. The only glimpse of emotion was in the smile, and the giggle that followed after it.

"Alright, alright," Yvette said.

She pulled a cigarette from behind an ear, then snapped her fingers.

The J stopped twisting Calvin's arms to go to her, tilting its tip at the end of her cigarette. The stick bloomed to life, flaming hot red ash. A dumb thought in his head asked _she smokes? Since when do my niggers smoke, let alone get their hands on…_the thought broke just as his ribs did. He gurgled, choking on pain, wetness touching the corner of his squint.

"That's enough," Yvette said. The letters backed away from him, forming a path on either side of the broken man. Yvette walked in between them, pausing beside Calvin's heaving chest.

"My apologizes," She said. She pressed the cigarette between her teeth, sucking deep, then pushed out the smoke with her lips. It twisted its way to Calvin's eyes, burning him. "I told them no visible marks. Believes me, I did. I just wanted to leave the mental impression, you see."

She wagged two fingers at her head, the ones still clutching the cigarette.

"But you know how French can be, right? Doing their own thing. Kind of hard to understand."

She gave a pearly chuckle and the letters shook with her, joining in.

"Right, _Monsieur _Candie?"

The laugh was what snapped him out of the dream. That and her flat eyes, looking at him as if she saw right through him. As if the dirt beneath his body had the same worth, if not more, than Calvin Candie did.

He had not liked that.

He also didn't like that Yvette Belisle, just another slave at his plantation, had worked her way into his dreams.

It couldn't be guilt. Still, he never had dreams of slaves spitting his own orders back at him. Then there was all that strangeness with the letters, Bon Bon or something. No, that wasn't it. Bonjour. That made more of what dream Yvette said make sense. French letters beating him, saying they were hard to understanding. She was stabbing him where it hurt.

Like she'd done at the Cleopatra Club. But no, that wasn't intentional. She didn't know Calvin didn't like no one speaking French to him. Calvin blinked out sleep gunk from his eyes. Well, damn. Was that it, then? Guilt rising up and nibbling on the ass?

Calvin never rejoiced in having pretty niggers disciplined, though he did have a bit of fun torturing Django's girl Brunhilde. Then again, he never tried to know her, didn't bump against her mind like he had Yvette with the other night. There was an energy to her, something that made him want to bounce and swipe at her like a kitty with some yarn. Unravel the layers, roll them back up and unravel them again.

Like the cat, he couldn't help poking at her.

It accelerated his pulse, got him moving on his feet. At first she'd been throwing those cheesy smiles at him, stacking on those flattering words. That was what he usually liked, after all. But for some reason it didn't sit well with him. Once he saw her put up that fake mask for him he wanted to chip it away. It's why he asked for her honesty.

Calvin laughed noisily, cutting it short when Sheba stirred. That last thought was just too funny, though. Honesty. When had he ever wanted that shit? He liked his ass kissing Negro boys and sweet french maid girls. Sweet was the key to his life. Not the foul taste of criticism, just sweet faces dripping sweeter words.

She took his challenge of honesty with open lips and started saying things that both unsettled his chest and warmed his limbs. The girl said he was hiding. Hiding things right on his face. Calvin grumbled. Well, he did like to keep the mystery. No one needed to know all of him. It built up reverence, the fear. Not just in his niggers but the men he socialized with as well.

So why'd Calvin want to draw her in, then? Pull the curtains of some of that mystery?

Drag her by the dip in her bodice, breathe smoke down her chocolately neck and whisper secrets few knew, not even this woman sleeping at his side?

Maybe it was a good thing he was having Yvette broken in.

It was in the Candie name, after all. He couldn't cut corners on her punishment. She'd broken his rules, doing more potential damage than any nigga wandering off the land in fear of his life in a Mandingo fight. Nah, it was his self image they were dealing with.

Still, he didn't know who to be more pissed with. Billy for bringing the girl there then not even telling her the rules? Yvette for spitting out those twisting words all confident? Or just himself. For not knowing French, not learning when his comprehension was fresh, and yet acting like he knew it.

Busy deciding whom to be mad at, he didn't notice Sheba staring at him.

"You look like you're forcing out a shit," She said. Her voice alerted him enough to snap the look off his face. Calvin fixed his face up with a tired look, yawning to finish it off.

"Just upset that I woke so early, is all," he said.

Sheba raised a narrow brow. She seemed to notice the shift in his face, him shutting her out. Again. As always. Calvin didn't feel bad, though. He opened his body to her, not his mind. Wasn't that enough? Sure they had their moments, but even those talks ended with him stroking her thigh and starting a whole new conversation only spoken with their bodies.

That was how it'd been last night. Except it all began with an argument. She'd been stomping around the bedroom, pouting and dark-cloudin'. Calvin tried to soothe her with gift offerings, any piece of jewelry she wanted from the shops. But those full red lips just jutted out, and she'd huffed as she dropped the bed.

Sheba had the right to be mad. He _had_ kissed another woman right in front of her. She should know it wasn't a real kiss, though. Just something he used to shut Yvette up and save face. He told her that, too. She wasn't willing to understand.

"There are other ways to shut a woman up," She said, arms crossed.

"Like my pecker in her mouth?"

Sheba threw a angel figurine at him, but good thing for her, he caught it and set it down.

"I am serious, Calvin. It wasn't right, and I didn't appreciate it. I mean, even if I'm meant for show …" She played with the ends of her yellow dress. "I'd still like some respect, you know."

Calvin scooted next to her on the bed.

"Come on. You know it's more than show, Suga."

Her pouting lip was still out, but it didn't make him pity her. It just made him think of kissing. Not kissing her, though, but the last lips he'd been sealed up against.

Good thing Sheba didn't know about the second kiss he gave Yvette, Calvin thought. There hadn't been a need to shut her up, so that excuse was dead. All he knew was the words he'd said before he did it were as true and honest as the moonlight.

_"If I hadn't already bought you off the Gentleman, I'd have to steal you."_

That was the thought that had tore him up from his seat.

Sheba gasped as he came up behind her, shoving her down to the bed, face down. Catching on, she'd giggled into the pillows, pouring on the smooth southern accent as Calvin fussed with his belt behind her.

"That anxious to have me, honey?"

"To have something," He'd mumbled as he positioned himself behind her.

He's fucked her hard that night. Raw and rough with one hand clutching her neck, the other hoisting the bottom as he drove into her. This wasn't a new one for them. In fact, it was his favorite way to fuck her. Less intimate, but still providing him with all he needed. She was pleased too, judging the wiggles and golden moans she made beneath him.

Calvin wasn't totally selfish, after all.

He had enough steel in him to last many hours. Emotions fueling him. Frustrations, confusion, lust…

Calvin snapped from his reminiscing. Sheba rose from the bed, the sudden movement cracking the stillness. As she moved about the room she rubbed her ass cheeks, obviously sore from last night.

He'd never been that rough, but it needed to be done. Sheba wouldn't be able to forget about his roughness for a while now, nor who had the control in the relationship.

He didn't need her questioning him when he didn't even have answers for himself.

Sometime between waking and thinking, the sweat had dried. It crusted Calvin's soft muscles and he thought to have a bath prepared. The sunlight bled through the curtains. The field niggers liked to start before the sun cooked their backs too much, but the house slaves should be awake too. Cleaning up, kitchen staff prepping breakfast.

Ah. That's what he forgot.

Stepping into some discarded pants, Calvin waddled to the door.

"Steph- oh." He'd begun to call out the head slave's name but the black booger was already waiting behind it.

"Mornin, Masta." Eyes bright against black skin, tail wagging.

"Morning, Stephen. Look, I need a hot bath. Have someone get it prepared for me."

"Sho' thing, surely." Stephen said.

"Also…" Calvin looked back. Sheba wasn't paying them any attention as she pulled pins in her hair and fussed at the vanity. Calvin stepped out the room regardless, fastening the door behind him. "Listen. Where'd you put up the Yvette girl last night?"

"The new nigger? Uh, she out in Brunhilde old cabin. Yeah, me saws Crash riding her up there and throw her in. Don't know what happened after but what I do know if she was on his nag again! Now I don't see why you let all these—"

Calvin cut him off.

"We'll get to that later. Did Billy do as I told him?"

Stephen twisted his lips.

"And what that, sir?"

Calvin's eyes shifted to the side for a moment as he said "Discipline her."

The head slave's blackberry face lit up.

"She got a beatin? Oh finally. I knew you wouldn't let that horse riding go!"

Calvin let him believe any reasons he wished.

"Go get her, will ya? I want her on kitchen duty today. See how she does there."

"Yeah, yeah, sho thing. A beating, oh good!" He was already walking away.

"And don't forget that bath!" Calvin called.

Stephen waved a hand behind him.

That nigger's mind was like a train on one track. Just rolling around in circles, never going anymore.

But then again…Calvin thought, looking about the French décor screaming against the walls, the multiple candy bowls on pillared surfaces.

He wasn't very different.

* * *

This thing was choking her. White lace clutching her neck, tight like a dog collar. The black slash ran across the throat, cutting off her breath whenever she slouched and forcing her straight on her heels. None of the others seemed to have her problem. They fussed about the kitchen, arms in sync as they washed, shined, and prepared. Breathing just fine, though. Yvette stood to the corner, watching it all and trying to learn their pace.

The head slave, Stephen, was watching her with one eye bugged out. His frizzy brows were twitching like a worm across his face.

"That's right. Get they style in your head. Aint no nigger gonna mess up my breakfast service just cuz she aint work in a proper kitchen. What the hell you do for your people up north, anyway?"

Irritation steamed in Yvette's chest. She leaned forward to tell him something, something she probably shouldn't, when the tie against her neck caught her vocal cords. She gasped, coughing, and pulled the lacy collar away for breath.

Stephen smiled at her struggles.

"Well, wherever you come from, them bad practices best be washed out before breakfast. I'm sure your floggin helped, doh. How'd you like that, anyway?"

Yvette pulled herself together as best she could. With her eyes flashing from the floor to Stephen, she said "I didn't."

Stephen slammed his hand on the countertop, startling a group of kitchen workers.

"The hell if you liked it! Like I was telling Calvin, bout damn time. Northern niggas thinkin they can ride on nags. Ha. Ha. Ha."

Yvette nodded, biting on her lip. Smoothed the black dress across her legs and sides, cleared her irritated throat. She did everything but laugh right in Stephen's face. For all his bigheadedness, the head slave knew nothing.

Yvette woke up that morning to Stephen's grating scary voice outside the cabin. She'd flung off the bed, waiting for the door to burst open. It didn't. As Yvette listened, she realized there were other voices too. Muffled rumbles. She'd padded forward and cracked the door sliver.

There she'd seen Stephen by the edge of the field. Gleaming eyes and wagging hands, he spat out questions faster than the niggers could answer. Yvette slid it closed when Stephen's trembling form pointed towards her cabin.

The time it'd take him to wobble over on his cane gave her time to collect herself. She wished there was a mirror in there. Then she could improve her faces, instead of being the "bad actress" Billy had called her.

Nice Guy Billy.

The thought of him made a smile touch her lips, then fall as she remembered how he hadn't parted in the best mood.

But then the door opened.

From how fast he got there, he must've been really anxious to get in her face. At least she was already frowning, but added to that with the only defenseless face she knew how to cook up. A lip out, play up the eyes.

A sharp smile flashed across Stephen's skin. He'd yanked her off the bed and clattered on about her working in the kitchens that morning, the hardness in his voice twisted up with smugness, approval.

Yvette then stood in the kitchen with the head slave. The smugness was still there but not the approval. He'd been barking at her for hours. Keep your shoulders back, step with your right foot first, stay lined with everyone else! If someone snap for what you holdin, you betta be there with it, girl or I'll personally snap you myself.

"Aint gonna need Billy Crash to knock you out when I get a fist right here," he said, shaking a crusty knuckle at her.

Her eyes narrowed at the fist in her face, but she was against the wall and couldn't slide away from it. And snatching it up and throwing it back to his jaw wouldn't sweeten her days at Candieland. She was stuck squinting at the dry knuckles to the rumpled forehead, studying her.

_Stay calm, Yvette. You're scared, remember? Not angry._

Yvette put on her teardrop eyes and gave Stephen a shaky look.

"P-please don't hurt me, Sir."

A pause, then he brought the fist down to his hip.

"Hmph." Stephen stepped back, cocked his head to the side. "You know who you remind me of, gal? You remind me of the nigga just left here. Brunhilde, was her. She looked scary all the time, just like you do now. But that bitch was sneaky. Let's hope you aint like her."

Yvette bit the plush of her lip. Brunhilde was back in the conversation, the woman she supposedly replaced. But that couldn't be if Calvin had sent Yvette to kitchens, right? Then again, whose cabin had she slept in? Either way this mysterious ex-Candieland slave didn't seem too popular, so she thought it best to make sure Stephen didn't associate the two of them.

Rounding her shoulders, Yvette let the ribbon cut into her throat. The stretching across her neck made her gasp and she used that to her advantage. her voice came out weaker, feeble.

"I'm not like the other slave, Sir. I'm just me."

Stephen seemed to consider that but was interrupted by a side door flapping open. Cora, the lady that'd taken care of Yvette yesterday, came busting in. Following her was Coco. The circled dress was gone replaced with a kitchen garment matching Yvette's. The women balanced plates of food. Hot rolls. Stacked cutlets of meats. Breakfast cakes. Yvette couldn't account for everything as they passed from one hand to other hands and counter tops.

"Alright, it about time we prep tables." Stephen yowled at two young Negro men, wobbling to a shiny black door split between the kitchen.

Yvette stuck to her corner to avoid the bustling bodies.

"You!"

Yvette's head snapped up. Stephen hadn't left yet. He pointed a finger toward a small table, a metal serving jar on the surface. "Fill that up with the cake dressing. You gonna hold the syrup this morning."

He disappeared through the door.

Once gone, the frenzy settled down. Workers even took to joking and moved at a regular pace. Understanding it was the head slave who got everyone wound up, Yvette's nerves loosened. Perhaps serving in Calvin's kitchen wasn't actually that hard. Maybe all Stephen's barking demands just reflected his love relationship with the sound of his own voice.

"How ya holding up?" Coco now stood beside Yvette. She clutched a tray of cheese and meats. "I heard you got…in trouble."

"Oh, it was—" Yvette stopped herself. Coco looked trusting enough, but the act in the cabin was a secret between her and Billy. There were people everywhere who could overhear a snatch and report it to Stephen. Or Calvin. It'd be best to keep Coco out of it. Clearing her throat, Yvette said, "At least I didn't bruise."

"Monsieur wouldn't want you scarred or anything, especially if you're gonna work in the big house. Maybe that redeemed you."

"Maybe…" Yvette looked around the room. There were pots, pans, trays. The open curtains gleaned light off of all the metallic services. She couldn't find a change of subject in any of the kitchen things.

Coco shouldered toward the table by the door.

"You should fill up your syrup now."

"Right." Yvette headed over with Coco at her heels. She helped her fill it.

Yvette thanked her, then asked a question.

"Why are you here, Coco? I thought you held the candy bowls."

"Monsieur doesn't need his candy in the mornings, so I just help wherever I'm needed until then. I heard you were being yelled in kitchens so I choose work here today."

Yvette smiled a little, touched.

"You're my hero, then," she said. "Stephen had me cornered right when you walked in."

Coco nibbled at her fingers.

"What was he doing to you?"

"Testing me. He thinks I'm sneaky. Doesn't really trust me."

"He doesn't trust anybody, except Master and Cora, sometimes. So don't feel bad." Coco bent down so her mouth was at Yvette's ear. "Although, I can tell you didn't actually get beat. Just what _did_ Billy do to you?"

The jar handle almost slid out her hands.

"He…did what he was supposed to." Yvette gave a little shake of her head, teeth gritted behind a forced smile.

Coco put hands on her hips.

"Nothing, then?"

"No…something."

"He didn't do nothing. Did he?"

Coco tapped her foot, waiting.

Yvette's nails dug into the handle of the jar. What lie could she draw up now?

Well, no use pretending. Coco already knew.

"Are you going to tell?" Yvette asked on a sigh.

"God, naw. I won't tell." Coco squinted at the clock in a corner then turned back to her. "But we got a few minutes before service. Come with me."

Yvette ducked behind Coco as she hustled past a set of doors through another room, this one steamy with the smells of cooking food, then into a sitting room. It was more like a corner of a chamber. Small, dim lit, and hardly decorated.

They stopped in the middle of it, Yvette cradling her syrup jar. Coco checked beyond her shoulder then motioned for Yvette to come closer.

"I knew he didn't beat you," She said. "And not just because you don't look scarred or sore enough. But because I know Billy. He…different."

"Different." Yvette tested the words. That was a good word for Nice Guy Billy. So did that mean he spared others like her? She asked Coco that.

"Not that I know of. But when I say different I mean he got his own code outside the other workers here. When you spoke French, it was…bad, but wasn't so bad. For you to get beat for it wasn't right. But I've been studying Billy, you know."

Her gaze looked to the ceiling.

"And I see how he doesn't agree with all the things Calvin does. And I saw it when he snatched you up last night. He was rushing, like trying to get it all over with. Looked rehearsed to me. I figured he had a plan."

Yvette fingers tweaked the edge of her dress. Coco wasn't just a cutesy girl in a too wide dress.

"You're shrewd." She said.

Coco toed the carpet.

"I just look around, that's all. I study Billy."

That was the second time she mentioned studying Billy. Yvette was beginning to suspect her study wasn't just for research. She got ready to ask her about it but Coco spoke first.

"Do you like…white boys, Yvette?"

Yvette jerked back. The syrup sloshed within the jar and she clasped it with both hands.

Yes, I should say.

No! Say no!

"Why are you askin me?" Fell out instead. She stepped back a little, one side of her face hidden in the tight collar. "That doesn't matter. I'm not.."

She couldn't glue her thoughts together. What didn't matter? And why couldn't she have just answered it straight? It was a simple answer.

If only she could find it.

Yvette tried to stuff the memories down but last night barged into her mind. The two horse rides, clutching at Billy Crash's chest. The two kisses, both from Calvin Candie. Kisses that she'd actually memorized with her tongue, tried to keep within herself.

Stop. These were her oppressors they were talking about. Masters of our race. Why would she _like_ them?

"There's a slave here, Yvette. Maurice. He works in the kitchens. Real soft voice, long braids. He likes to tease me about my working dress. Always fluffs my hair when I walk by and smiling at me. Monsieur don't mind his niggers getting together. I think me and him…" Coco paused, shook her head. "I think Maurice is cute. But—"

"You like white boys too." Yvette finished.

Coco pleated the ends of her dress.

"You work at the Cleopatra Club and start thinking about things that can't happen outside its walls. Sure, Sheba and Calvin…but what they do is protected by the walls I talked about. Someone like me, I don't have options. It'd be nice to have them, is all."

Yvette placed a hand on her shoulder.

"We deserve choices. Even if we are slaves."

Coco nodded, voice coming out fast.

"I mean there are bad whites. Of course. But I met a lot of nice ones at the club. And boys like Maurice; I like them. But I like to like… other things too."

Yvette could only nod. She understood, even without an array of good experiences with white men aside from her own French farm. Even as a child, going into town, before she knew about color barriers, her childish self giggled over all the boys. Then she grew up and her giggles stopped soon enough.

Unlike Coco, she didn't run into all these "good" ones, besides Nice Guy Billy. She'd stumbled onto a couple pretty bad ones, though.

One being her master, Calvin Candie. Billy called him a snake, and she thought it fitting. Calvin might strike you or just bob his head and slither away. He might hug you, or wrap himself around your body to squeeze the life from your chest.

And the kisses! It kept coming back to mind. For hours last night she'd relived them. Then she'd stared at the ceiling and tried to put sense to it. Running through all his behaviors of last night. He looked so pleased with her appearance at first, then flashed with anger at her slip. Next he drew her in, wanting to know her true thoughts. Then cast her off to be disciplined.

Calvin really was a snake and he suffocated logic.

Yvette's eyes shifted, falling low. Coco and her were on a similar page in all this. Maybe she could express how she felt.

"Coco? To answer your question—"

The door banged open from behind. Yvette spun, hand at her chest and Cora trotted toward them with her skirts bundled in her fists.

"Girls, what are ya'll doing? It's time for service!"

Without waiting for an answer, whipped around and marched back through the door. Coco hurried along while Yvette stumbled after her, a hand on the syrup spout as the contents splashed within. They wove through the rooms until they reached the main kitchens. Cora poured through the shiny black door Stephen had gone through earlier.

Yvette stopped outside it. Coco wasn't there anymore, instead fussing around with something else.

"Are you coming?" Yvette asked, voice coming out a little high.

"In a minute. You have to go now, though."

Yvette swallowed her breath. This was it. Her first day on the job, second chance to impress Monsieur Calvin.

"You got to go," Coco said again, her eyes warning. "Do your best, girl. Good luck."

Yvette rounded her shoulders, but the bite of the tie on her neck was a friendly reminder to straighten up. With stiff posture and careful steps, she pushed through the door.

The room was full.

Serving slaves lined the walls, their gazes straight ahead. Men and women filled the tables. A few she vaguely recognized from the Club and two she definitely recognized.

Sheba.

Calvin Candie.

Chandeliers glowed against the crimson walls and elegant dress covered the diners. The table burst with platters, some steaming. Crystal glasses filled with bubbling gold liquid.

Yvette took only a couple seconds to take that in. Her eyes were already on the one at the head of the table. From the door she could only see the back of him. How his hair parted, polished and dark, sliding against his neck. his shoulders were broad lines under a gray tinted suit.

Cora's eyes caught Yvette and she glanced to a spot between two slave men, silently urging her there. Yvette hurried toward it, unable to not look at Calvin as she passed.

Her breath caught at his smiling cheekbones, the dark features against pale skin. It contrasted with Stephen, dark skinned, pale haired, who stood with his hand across the back of Calvin's chair.

Stephen didn't seem to notice Yvette as he chattered on with Calvin, all his attention poured there. Calvin sipped at his drink, still smiling, but then touched Stephen's shoulder in a half pat, half push.

"While your jokes have surely filled my stomach, Stephen, my palate is still as bare, as are these plates."

"Oh, I see. I'll fix that, Suh." Stephen bashed his hands together and the platter-holding slaves stepped forward immediately, all aligned, and began to serve all the people at the table. Yvette shrunk back, nails digging into the syrup handle.

When finished, the men and women settled back to the wall in one collective thump.

So Stephen wasn't just blabbering when he said they were to move in rhythm. Yvette had fully backed against the wall now. Maybe this syrup jar was strong enough to scoop a hole in one of these walls and hide away.

Slaves beside her cut their eyes in her direction. Tight lipped. Some looked shocked, others gave the smallest shakes of their heads.

But Stephen; he looked like a steaming beast, shoulders rising, nostrils flared. He didn't have to say anything. That look he gave her said it all. _Mess this up, nigger, and see what happens._

She would _not_ mess this up. Barely breathing, Yvette unglued herself from the wall and stood in line with the other slaves.

At the table, all the heads were bowed, a white woman in an off-shoulder dress reciting prayers in a lilting accent.

Calvin bobbed his head at her words.

"Yes, Lara. Yea, Jesus. Oh, yes. Let's eat!"

Heads raised and everyone wielded forks and knifes, cutting into their food. Yvette did her best to ignore the heat of Stephen's glare and focused on the table. So many faces and it worried her. She didn't know their tempers, how her interactions with them might be.

There were a couple empty chairs left. Where's Billy? She wondered. Did he even eat in the big house or did he go off alone? She hoped he might fill one of these open seats. Things felt safer when he was around. And right now she didn't feel safe.

Not fixed under Stephen's stare, and definitely not with Monsieur Calvin just inches away. Even if he was ignoring her.

A finger snapped. It was further down the table, a graying man in a suit. None of the slaves moved, but their eyes rolled toward Yvette. She hustled over to the man.

Her mouth opened, about to ask what he wanted, but she shut it. You don't talk to them unless they talk first. The man pointed toward his pancake and yvette rose on her heel and drizzled syrup on it.

He batted her hands away and, alarmed, she tugged the jar back. Syrup guzzled from the opening, a puddle landing on the table where his wrist was about to rest.

Yvette didn't wait to see the results. She scurried away and headed back into her corner.

"So," It was the first word from the table since they started eating. It came from Calvin. "I got me a new nigger. Ya'll like?"

The heads at the table twisted towards Yvette. She gulped, not sure what to do but deciding on a silent curtsy.

The women to Calvin's left had heavy smile lines, grinning at Yvette. The men looked her up and down before turning back to their meals. Sheba hardly glanced up at all. Calvin was turned his chair, though, looking at her with not a smirk or a frown. He had the careful look at someone appraising new cattle.

Yvette remembered her act. _I got beat the other night. I'm scared and timid_. She already had scared down, nervous about her spill under that man's arm. But to finish it off, she gnawed the inside of her cheek, let a shake she'd been surppressing take over her fingers.

Playing timidity, she let her gaze fall onto Calvin's lap. Her face heated up. No, not a good place to rest her eyes. She chose the tip of his chin instead, where he currently fingered the scuff.

"The birds aint singing for you this morning, Yvette?" He asked.

Yvette opened her mouth, closed it.

"Answer him, girl!" Stephen said, a fist raised.

"Sssh, ssshh, Stephen. It's okay. The girl trying. She had a rough night, is all. Didn't you, sweetheart?"

"Y-yeah." She said. She dipped her chin to her chest.

"My God," said the woman in the off-shoulder dress. She gave Yvette a pitying look. "The girl is terrified. What ya'll do so early in her stay to get her all worked up?"

Calvin petted the woman's hand.

"Don't worry your head, darlin Sister. The girl didn't get nothing she hadn't purchased. By the way I need some syrup for these pancakes, Yvette. Come serve me."

Yvette only paused a moment before she hustled to his side. Being careful, she let the syrup drizzle slowly, not willing to spill a drop where it shouldn't be. Good thing, too, for Calvin's sudden hand on her lower back jolted her.

"I like a lot of syrup," he said.

As she circled the sugary liquid across his pancakes, all she could think about was that hand on her back. It pressed into her, hot at the fingertips, a heat she felt through her black dress.

Was this appropriate? Her eyes flashed to Sheba. The woman wasn't sparing them a glance. Wouldn't she be angrier than this? Yvette inspected closer, noticing her body blocked most of Calvin's arm. It merely looked like Calvin had his hand under the table, not wrapped around her, pressing her back.

"She works good, don't she?" Calvin asked the table. The hand rotated across the indentions in her back. She controlled her gasp with a bite to her cheek.

"Not too well." The man she'd served earlier, grumbled. "The gal got syrup on my arm!"

He showed his wrist to the table, the sticky glare of syrup dripped down his skin. Yvette stopped pouring, sweat beading her hairline.

"Come now, Butch. That's what they made handkerchiefs for."

Calvin chuckled, and at his laughter everyone else joined in.

Stephen pointed at a slave who bustled off, coming back with a small pail of water. Yvette, distracted by the other actions going on, almost forgot about Calvin and that hand. But as she felt it slip into one of those back dimples, she refocused.

"Don't stop pouring now," His breath tickled her face.

She continued her slow pour on the other pancakes, belly tightening as Calvin's grip flattened across her back into an open palm. His hand went lower, swooping down to cup her behind.

But he didn't. The hand just lingered there, hovered. It wasn't even like the kiss, for as brief as it was, it happened. Calvin's hand just rested in the air. If she shifted back an inch he'd be cupping her. The temptation to slide back just a little and feel the heat of his fingers on her nudged into her belly…

Calvin's wrist switched out from behind her. He tapped his fork against the spout of her jar. Yvette straightened, mentally smacking herself. Maybe she had taken a beating to the head. Entertaining thoughts like that.

For a moment, their eyes locked. Yvette felt trapped in it, couldn't look away. He wasn't shutting his gaze on her either, and so they remained like that.

After a moment, he dropped his eyes and said, "That'll be all."

Lowering her head, Yvette flurried to the wall. _What was that? _She asked herself, heart an unsteady mess inside her. Was it seconds? Half a second?

The room carried on like nothing had passed. Stephen ordering some slaves around, not paying her any mind. Had no one noticed that? Maybe it really was hardly a moment…

Someone snapped their fingers. Yvette braced her jar, looking around. It was Sheba. After Yvette made her way to her side, the woman pointed to her eggs. Yvette poured the syrup on. Once finished, she started to pull away but Sheba laid her long fingers onto her forearm.

Yvette looked down at the other woman, stiffening under her grip.

"Stay away," was all she said, voice low and each word coming out like the threat of lava. Her nails were pressing, dug into Yvette's skin.

"I'm trying."

Sheba twisted her lips to the side but released her just as the doors swung upon. A tall man shuffled through it. He made his way around the table, lean form clad in vest, boots, jeans.

Billy had arrived.


	9. Late-Bloomer Lolita

**Chapter 9:**

Late-Bloomer Lolita

**Author's Note:** Another bit of sexual description…. Let's just note that from now on any chapter has the potential for sensuous details. Nothing rated M (as of yet) but if that came in a (very far) future, you'd have a warning. I don't plan on "luxuriant" details being the real focus all the time, though, but you'll see it sometimes pops its head up.

I hope you like the chapter!

~yellowspotlight89

* * *

_**Staring at the blank page before you. Open up the dirty window. Let the sun illuminate the words that you could not find reaching for something in the distance. So close you can almost taste it. Release your inhibitions. Feel the rain on your skin.**_

He wouldn't have been there if he weren't so hungry.

The slop he and the boys ate in their lodge usually did enough. Bacon dripping with grease like from a sweaty back and eggs cooked hard as cue balls. None of that was enough today, especially when the boys hardly left enough for anyone who didn't come with jutting arms. Mr. Stonesipher was a classic example of that.

_So why not dine with my fellow superiors_, Billy had thought riding over that morning.

Despite his position, he didn't stay in the big house and hardly ate among Calvin and his host of fellows. He wanted a change that morning, though, was all. Change and pancakes, plus a couple of those hot rolls with the strawberry center Calvin was always serving.

That was it. The only motivation to his sudden change in routine. Surely he didn't look through her cabin window that morning to see if she was there. And of course he didn't come to the house in hopes of a glimpse of her.

He was just hungry, nothing more to it.

Billy gave the room a casual sweep as he sauntered in, keeping his eye on nothing in particular. So casual was his sweep that his heart didn't skip or flip when he noticed her. She was just another body among a room of black servers. Just another face that didn't make his facial muscles twitch with nervous excitement at all. Nope.

Finding a spot beside Leonide, Billy wasn't sitting there because it gave him a full view of the servers. Who even knew the cleared space between the two standing slaves would be where Yvette might stand once she finished serving Sheba?

The seat was near a platter of steaming hot rolls and that had drawn him over. It's what he came here for, after all. Hot rolls, eggs, and maybe pancakes.

Because he was hungry for food and nothing else.

Yvette stepped away from the table, white lace hiding her throat and the narrow frame swathed under layers of stiff black fabric. She moved stiffly too, scurrying to the side of the room like a mouse to its hole, her head down.

Billy's head bent, hands clasped over the tablecloth as he followed Yvette with his eyes. She settled in between the two servers just as he'd guessed. If he had actually guessed, that is. Yvette stared hard at the syrup jar in her hands, looking enthralled with the spout.

He shouldn't do it; try to get her attention. Billy had nothing to communicate without looking obvious. She was staying out of the way…acting timid, doing what he told her so far. He should have let her alone instead of plotting petty ways to catch her eye.

But like a school boy tosses pencils at the cute girl in front of um …

Billy cleared his throat, then picked up his fork only to drop it down, whipped out his napkin with a _whoosh_ to roll it into his lap. At all this Yvette hardly stirred, her eyes still hooked on the jar.

Muscles curdled in his stomach, making him feel like there were snakes in his belly. Hissing snakes that flicked out their tongues, impatient and restless. Why was he acting like this?

She was just a slave. She didn't owe him a stare. Why did he expect…

A curl fell between her eyes as she glanced up from the jar, gaze flitting over the room before landing on him. As they held eyes, she let out a breath, her shoulders set a bit looser. As if she was comforted by the sight of him.

The snakes stopped their slithering complaints, even took to smiling wide from their thin lipped faces.

They had been feed.

_Damn you. No they haven't! I haven't. _

Billy came here for food and not the girl's attention. To prove it he pushed out of his chair and stacked his plate high with hot rolls, sausage, whatever was hot and near him.

Then Calvin's voice, like an accordion smashing all the wrong keys, hit him at the side of his head.

"If it aint the mystery man come gracing our presence this morning!"

Billy finished packing his plate and dropped back down in the chair.

"Hello," he grumbled to his friend and the rest of the table, tipping his hat. Digging into his plate, he spooned up eggs, sausage, rolls. The mix made for an interesting combination of sweet and savory in his mouth.

_See, Billy. You're hungry. It's why you came._

"Long time hardly see, Little Billy," said Ms. Lara, a smile stretched out on her face and two rapid blinks to go with it. Billy pushed a grin out from behind his stuffed jaws, swallowing hard before asking how she was doing.

"Thank you for asking. Just fine."

"Well, that's…good." Billy scratched the back of his head then picked up his silverware again. Small talk wasn't his cup of sweet tea.

Calvin was the talker, not him. It was like that in school too. Crash would stand back and look out toward the sun while Candie carried the conversation.

Ms. Lara chattered on, talking in that soft careful tone like she did when they were growing up. The woman both babied and teased him, playing momma and big sister.

Calvin said nothing but wore a smile as he cut through syrup-slathered pancakes. His gaze flickered between his sister and Billy as if engaged in their conversation, but mostly they hooked onto Crash. Billy tried to avoid the stare beating against his head, muttering out responses to Ms. Lara.

Coco burst through the door then, all bug-eyed and breathless. Stephen shot a look at her from his vulture's post at Calvin's shoulder and angled toward a spot against the wall. Coco scurried toward it, frazzled. Once reaching it, the big-bowed girl smiled at Billy. He returned it weakly. Guessed everyone was a little surprised to see him actually eating at the table.

Well… he thought, surveying the crimson walls, the spread of food on the table and everything else except Yvette. He guessed he could come back for dinner too. Might as well start utilizing the opportunity to eat decent. Bricks and dust get old after time.

Butch snapped his fingers from across the table, propping his chin toward a faraway platter. Straight away a male slave stepped forward and brought the dish in Butch's reach. Billy saw his chance.

He let his gaze run over the slaves at the wall, attempting to look without being obvious.

Cora, Jim, Maurice and _her._ Digging a black heeled foot into the carpet, staring at the platters with her teeth sinking into her lip. Was the girl hungry? Sure looked it…but who cared? Not his business.

Billy focused on his plate, tapped out a few second with his fingers, looked up at the slaves again.

Cora-Jim-Maurice _her_.

"Billy!"

Billy's fork clanked to the table.

"What?" He snapped, spine wound up tight. He must've caught him staring. Or maybe Calvin asked him something and Billy hadn't even heard it… because he'd been staring.

There were no wins.

Calvin chuckled as he sipped from his wine glass.

"Aren't we a grumpy pup this morning. What's wrong, bud? Sleep on the flea side of the bed?"

"Aint no fleas in my bed," Billy grumbled.

Despite it being their longtime joke, he'd felt the need to make that clear, gaze instinctively flying up to the girl again. Falling away just as fast.

He got his sheets done and washed every week. Even took a long bath that morning, scrubbed hard as hell. Yesterday he'd been grimy and sweaty from all that sunlight. Still early today, the dust hadn't had the chance to cling to him yet.

Calvin liked poking fun at the fact Billy never slept in the big house, but never pushed him.

Billy assumed Calvin enjoyed that his right hand man chose to lodge in a creaky bed and shared living space with a trust of roughnecks. As if it made Calvin tougher by association.

The Candie Man wouldn't understand Billy's real reasons for staying out there, though it was pretty simple; empathy. A vague sense of duty fused with some guilt. Why indulge in melting sheets and fine dining when you've got a daddy back at the house you grew up in, creaking by on your paycheck? A house falling apart because it hasn't been repaired in decades. A plantation running right outside the window that wasn't even theirs to claim anymore…

"And you, Yvette?"

The name cut Billy from his thoughts.

"Me?" Yvette asked, small-voiced, her body turned as if preparing to bolt out the door at any moment.

Pushing from the table, Calvin swung back in his chair, head dropped back like a child goofing off at his desk.

"Were there fleas in your bed last night?"

"Uh…no."

Her eyes started to turn in Billy's direction but she stopped herself, setting them at a spot over his head. Billy relaxed, afraid she was going to look at him for help. Hell, he didn't know what Calvin was talking about either.

"That's mighty odd." Calvin said, hands forked around his chin. "Cuz from what Stephen told me, you was hollering and crying last night. All them field niggas heard ya. Something must'a been happening to get you worked up like that."

Yvette drew in a breath, ribs tightening against the dress. When she let it out, her eyes were dewy and she stared at the edge of Calvin's tie as she said, "There _was _something."

Stephen stepped forward, slamming his fist on the table.

"Can't you speak in full sentences, girl? Tell the man what happened."

Ms. Lara shook her head over her plate, but everyone else had turned in their chairs, waiting to hear. Billy waited too, his fingers drumming in his lap. The two hadn't discussed just what she'd say to Calvin. Only how to act.

Well he couldn't talk for her and not look invested. The girl was on her own now. Billy just hoped she'd practiced her acting skills overnight.

"I got disciplined," Yvette said after the brewing wait.

Calvin brought his chair in, elbows heavy on the table.

"Really now. I'm sure why ever that was, it had to be done." His eyebrows quirked and he shrugged his shoulders.

Nodding against her chest, Yvette gave Calvin quick glances before pressing her knees together as if in a tremble.

_Damn,_ thought Billy.

She looked so convincingly tiny. What happened to his bad actress? The girl he had to literally shake some semblance of emotion into just to get her to yell right? Maybe she _was_ scared of Calvin, though, and Billy just didn't inspire that kind of fear.

He wouldn't want the girl to fear him; that wasn't his style. Still, how she looked at Calvin with those stretched eyes, tinged with awe. It… bothered him.

Her gaze was calm and steady with him. As if compared to Calvin, he wasn't something to blink twice at. So Calvin affected her, but he couldn't?

The snakes roused in his stomach again, tongues flickering.

"May I ask who delivered the punishment?" Calvin asked.

Billy rolled his eyes. Sardonic fool.

This wasn't for any one's benefit but the curious men at the table and maybe Sheba, who grinned wolfishly. Calvin knew all the whos and whats of Yvette's "beating." He was the one who made the call and if he'd talked with Stephen surely the nigger had filled him in on all the supposed kicks and slaps the slaves heard Billy serving the girl.

Billy popped out of the bubble in his thoughts as chairs grinded, shifting. Looking up, he saw everyone's head was turned at him. Yvette was pointing a finger straight at him, her chin lower, dropping the hand after a moment.

"May I help ya'll?" Billy asked, reaching over Leonide's arm to snatch up another hot roll. Ha, as if that would quiet the snakes in his belly. They didn't feed off bread, after all. But he was irritated that he was irritated; chewing on something might help. She was playin' the role, yet why was he mad? Feeling it was her and Calvin against him? He didn't even like the idea of that. Not at all.

"My apologies, Billy." Calvin smiled, the silver in his teeth glinting. "The girl pointed you out as her discipliner. We couldn't help but look at ya."

Yvette sniffed, and the eyes were off of him and back to her.

"You got a cold on the rise, Yvette?" Calvin asked.

"No, Monsieur." She said. With a hand she rubbed her back then jerked it away as if touching a tender spot. "It just… hurts."

The way her voice cracked on those last words.

The snakes shut up, retreating with bowed heads. Billy felt his eyes softening, a hand almost reaching out. He dropped it fast.

What the hell was this?

This girl had him all mixed up. Thirsty for her attention, parched when she gave it to Calvin, then with a lost appetite when she seemed in pain. She was acting, damn it. He even clicked through his memory to make sure he hadn't actually hit her hard during their show. Nah, just a few playful shakes and throws on the bed. Didn't even get near her back.

Feeling a bit more assured but still uneasy, Billy glanced over at Calvin. The man had a sort of grimace of his face like a nasty taste gripped his tongue.

"Now, now," he said to Yvette. "I don't want those red eyes in my dining room. Clog up them tears."

Stephen seconded his words by batting his hands at the girl.

Yvette worked her head in a fervent nod, straightening up.

Calvin turned to Billy then with a look like granite. Hard and twitchy at the corners like Billy had beat _him_.

"Damn, what'd you do to that girl, Crash?" Calvin asked.

Has the bastard had a too little too late change of heart, or just playin? God, that man could never be straight on anything.

"What any man does to make a girl holler and cry out," Billy said, exasperation hardly suppressed in his tight tone.

Calvin boomed out a laugh, as did the rest of the table. Even Ms. Lara's shoulders trembled with a giggle. Yvette glanced up shyly, though if judging the way she sucked in her cheek, she was trying not to smile.

Something tenderized in his belly. So she liked his joke, huh. Billy decorated his plate with a rope of sausage links. He was feeling real hunger as the tensions settled down and the snakes were at rest.

After finishing up his laughing, Calvin took a sip of wine and dabbed his mouth with a napkin.

"Well, at least you didn't bruise any of that northern skin of hers. Or did he, girl? You was clutching your back."

Yvette looked serious again and rung her foot to the floor. Billy couldn't help it, feeling a bit out of his skin and more assured; he jumped in to answer for her.

"It's where I kicked her-"

"He kicked me-"

Both stopped talking, gazes snagging onto the other. Billy's lips twitched just as hers did, but she swiftly replaced her face into the crook of her shoulder. There were niggers with big fans slowly stirring the air but Billy was feeling mighty warm, clothes too tight. Making her laugh, sharing these little smiles and glances with her, even coming up with the same lie.

Like a team, he thought.

He didn't have time to dismiss the thought fully when he noticed Calvin rubbing his chin, gone quiet. Uh-oh. Thoughts. Calvin didn't say anything, though, just went back to his eating in silence. The table focused on their meals again, chattering low as if not to elbow the strange cloud brooding around Calvin's head.

Billy wouldn't risk looking at her now. He finished up his food, eating fast, not planning to stick around any longer. He couldn't speak for Calvin, but this whole conversation with Yvette wedged in the middle reminded him of the rodeo. The starts of the show when the bull steams up his nose, beating his hooves against the dirt right before surging forward to charge its head into the belly of the taunting opponent. And she, that fleeting bit of flashing red.

Sheba was stroking Calvin's bicep as if trying to rub him out of the mood. She whispered something too, and Calvin started to smile, but then it fell away and he shook Sheba off. Not rough, but with a dismissive shake like dust on his cuff. Sheba slithered back to his place, lips hard on her face. The woman clutched her spoon, squeezing it so tight that Billy thought the metal might bend. After a while she just let it sink from her grasp, excusing herself from the table and flipping off in a wave of pink skirts.

The door split out a slam behind her.

As if woken up, Calvin drew back against the chair.

"Delicious! Delicious as always," he said, spreading his legs and smacking his chest. "But I think we're all done here."

Everyone dropped their silverware at his word, slipping from their seats and excusing themselves. Billy was up right alongside them, throwing the napkin to his plate as he elbowed through the bodies to reach the door.

He wouldn't look back and he sure as hell wasn't gonna look at her. The man had stepped too close, acted too risky. He needed to throw himself in work and refocus on his purpose at Candieland. Make money. Support his father. Get him by through the season.

A foot's length to the door, Billy stopped, for Calvin breath on his neck was like a seizing claw.

"Billy," Candie said, hidden emotion in his twisting tone. "Let's go to my office."

* * *

The syrup jar was the last thing she found interesting in the room.

She was growing real tired of clutching the digging handle, too, hating the soiled feeling of crusted sugar on her hands. Still, Yvette clutched the thing like the unsteady hold the staircase railing. Truthfully, she _was _feeling unsteady. Since she'd blown through the door to serve Monsieur Candie and his table, there was so much to think, act, do.

_Respond quickly. Don't spill. Keep your spine straight, but not too straight. You got beat last night, remember…_

So much to keep in line, but she'd manage, somehow. Even with the breakfast over, Yvette wanted to tug at her hair and shout at something. Instead she took to cleaving onto the jar. Bodies fluttered by, slaves and guests all mixed as one. The whites pushed around them to leave and Negros sidestepped to get out of their way. Yvette slipped back into a corner as it happened, mentally sorting through the bodies. She should been doing something, but since she wasn't exactly sure what something _was_ passed the moment in another way; staring at the two men she was becoming well accustomed staring at.

The two stood by a doorway at the far end of the room. Beside one another, they looked an odd pair.

Calvin, Yvette's flashy ever-shifting master, kept her on a cliff's edge. In a plain suit this morning, he made even gray look like party ensemble. With all those vivid expressions, teasing eyebrows, smiling lips. The man stewed of heat, threatening of some volcanic explosion at all times. And Yvette was a fool biting her lip from the corner, wondering how close she could bring her fingers before the fire singed them off.

Calvin shook hands and said _salut's_ while Billy, longer and taller, stood by like a silent shadow. If Calvin was fire ready to burn her, Billy was the bucket of water to cool her.

One heeled boot leaned back, his arms crossed over the chest. In blue jeans and a brown vest, his skin looked brighter and not a speck of sand lay on him. She'd caught a whiff of him when he sat down, too. Soapy clean like he's taken a long bath that morning. For all his dust she never thought him as dirty, but she didn't expect him to be so… nice smelling. That seemed more Calvin's style, judging from his colognes, suits, and candy.

One thing her mind was sure of, though. Both of them. They looked…good.

_You can shut your jaw and stop staring at them now. _

Look at her go, acting like a barefooted fool dancing on glass. A slave doesn't_ lust _her white owner, or his work hand. A slave shouldn't even look at either without a good reason.

_There's nothing there for you, except some cuts and shards of glass for your soles.  
_

She told herself this, but stupidly, stubbornly, her jaw just shifted, eyes still steady.

Just didn't listen.

But as the men started to leave, short and loud with tall and quiet, Stephen's stooped body hurried after them. He beat his cane against the floor.

"Hold up, hold up! I best go where ya'll going," he said.

Calvin looked back, lips drawn as he gave a small turn of his head.

"Thank you, Stephen, but I don't need you right now."

Stephen's eyes popped from his head like sunny side eggs.

"But-but—you always need me!"

Billy rolled his eyes, arms still crossed and his chin pointed at the ceiling. He hadn't looked at Yvette since breakfast dismissed. All through the service he'd glanced up at her in small, frequent successions, being sneaky about it, and she'd done all she could to not look back. Calvin hadn't hidden his stares during breakfast, though. His gaze had glazed up and down her sides whenever he'd spoken to her and Yvette hadn't known whether to shrink or shiver.

As Calvin told Stephen to stay behind again, the head slave's protest grew louder and stronger. He rose on his feeble heels like a thundering storm cloud.

Something snapped within the other slaves' spines then. Sharing quick glances they cleared the table in jerky fury, moving as if a hot rod threatened their skin. Yvette kept to a corner, not sure what to keep her eyes on. But then the weight of her jar fell.

Yvette reached forward desperately, heart lurching with anticipated doom.

_I've dropped it!_ She thought just as she looked up to coco's face. The girl had the jar in her grip and pushed it into Cora's passing arms.

"What are you…" Cora said, eyes narrowed, but at Stephen's shouting she leapt, hurrying away.

"Let's go." Coco said. She dragged Yvette through a kitchen door.

Yvette glanced back at the room.

"Shouldn't we help?"

"Not with Stephen in this mood, we don't. It's best to hide."

They passed through the door, hurried through a parlor, and finally stopped in the front foyer. Morning light engulfed the room, hot against Yvette's black layers. She shielded the sunlight with a syrupy hand, grimacing when it left its sticky trace on her forehead. Yvette glanced at the door they'd come through as Coco caught her breath.

"I need to go back," She said, raising her syrupy palms.

"Nah," Coco said, already moving again.

Yvette kept close as they set off deeper into the house. They pushed through ornate rooms and mini galleries of crimson, gold, and cream. When they finally reached the place Coco was set on showing her, Yvette's breath caught.

It was a bathroom, as crimson and gold as the rest of the house. A mirror hogged most the wall, plus a toilet, a deep-set bath, and pipes. Lots of pipes. Yvette knew what it suggested, but couldn't fathom it all.

Hot and cold water right at your fingers when you needed it.

Of course the washbasins in the kitchens had faucets and running water, but there were pumps there. Plus with all the outhouses she'd seen on the property and had even used that morning, she just assumed...

"This is Sheba's bathroom," Coco said, voice hushed like it was a secret. "But she lets the house slaves use it. Well, the girls. It's got all the things we need. Soap, tooth brush and paste, women's rags. See, there's even a few clothes in here…" Coco flipped open cabinets, showing her things.

As Yvette nodded and listened, she couldn't help catching herself in the big mirror. Her reflection practically screamed at her. A line of syrup across her forehead, a frazzled look in her eyes. Her hair had started curling out of the two braids she'd twisted them in that morning. Yvette was never good at braiding; it was what Mama did for her.

Something caught Yvette by the throat.

Mama.

Oh, Mama.

And the Belisles', the others on the farm.

Here she was in a strange house in a strange state, already letting them slip away.

A dank chill arrested her shoulders. All the running around, tossed from one hand to another. It never made her forget, but she had pushed it all to the back cages of her mind.

It'd been some time now, but did that excuse her? So caught up in the tug and draw of the present, Yvette hadn't taken much time to reflect on things that mattered. She'd thought long and hard about Calvin's kiss, yes, but hardly about the mother who raised her, of the family who'd swept her in protection from the dark hateful world.

With another tremble, Yvette realized that if things didn't settle down soon, she'd continue to push her past out of the way. The happenings around her weren't things one could float away from. They would force her to look upon them.

Shipped to a new world of crawling heat, slave to a plantation where even the white men didn't act as she'd expect. Perhaps it'd been best if that Gentleman Gregory got her; at least there she knew to expect unhappiness, pain. At Candieland, Yvette wasn't sure whether to turn her cheek for a kiss or a slap.

But she needed to get some order back into her days, real soon. She needed to truly mourn her mother and the others who'd all died. Like a wound without a bandage, she'd risk infection if she didn't. Surely one day she'd glance down and realize the wound had spread.

"You're cold," Coco said, blasting on water for the tub. The spray made Yvette jump. "A bath will take that chill right out of you. Then when Stephen calms down we can sneak back in the kitchen and eat the leftovers."

Yvette agreed, forcing out a smile so coco wouldn't suspect any change in her temperance. This acting thing was coming easier now; she'd had practice with Calvin.

Unlike Billy, it was easier to pretend for Calvin. Candie put on a big front himself, plus something about him made her feel backed to a wall, and who wouldn't lie when cornered?

After using some of the running water to splash her face, Yvette started to unravel her hairdo. The braids came out easy and she finger combed the strands. They dropping to her shoulders in a curling dark mass. The hiss of the bath water became the rhythm she attempted to braid in. Her first one came out too fat, though, so with a groan she loosened it and started over.

Coco came from behind her and nudged Yvette's hands away. "You're not very good." she said, already taking hold on her hair.

"Thanks," Yvette said, eyes narrowed at Coco in the reflection. She laughed as she worked fingers across Yvette's scalp.

"It's true." she said.

"My mama used to braid my hair for me. I never got a real hang of it." Yvette bent her face to the shiny floors, but coco raised it right away.

"I need your chin up," she said. Her finger snagged in a tangled curl and Yvette cringed. Coco patted the spot in way of apology. After a pause of silence, she asked, "Did they separate you from your Mama?"

Yvette's lips lifted in a hollow grin.

"If you mean the auction, no."

Coco didn't push, her hands working through Yvette's hair. Yvette felt herself falling into a deep hole in her mind, nothing but gray walls to stare at.

"She…" her lip trembled. "She isn't here anymore."

Coco's hands paused and the two caught eyes in the mirror. Yvette had a muted tremble that she suppressed by clasping her hands together. Coco's lips turned down and button nose wrinkled, almost as if she were about to cry.

"I lost too," she said. "A lot. The world never works the same again, it gets turned a little. But sometimes…sometimes you gotta push it back in place on your own."

"I can't just forget her," Yvette said, voice thick. she sucked in a breath, refusing to cry. She'd done enough of that on the way to Mississippi.

Coco shook her head.

"I know, but you got to live on, too. Your mama wouldn't want you to stop moving, would she?"

Yvette thought on it, knowing she wouldn't. Her mom was kind, but tough. She even told her daughter, knowing she'd been nudging the minute hands of the life clock, not to let her death push Yvette down. To think of it as just her leaving on a trip to the better world. They'd meet again. Not for many years, but again.

"I think four braids should be enough," Yvette said, in change of subject. She raised her lips in a smile, less empty this time, in thanks. Coco smiled back, and shook her head.

"More like six. I'll use a pin and make a knot at your nape—"

Yvette jumped when the door burst open. Then Cora's round face came to view and her heart settled down. Who'd she been expecting? Calvin, Billy? No, maybe just Sheba. The woman didn't seem too fond of Yvette at the late…

"So this is where ya'll run off too," Cora said, heel of her hands at her hips. She glanced over at the tub, about full now, snapping the water off. "Doing hair and takin' baths when there's work in the kitchen."

Coco gave a respective curtsy.

"Ms. Cora, Stephen was on the brim of a fit. You know he'd take it out on the new girl. Didn't you tell me to take care of her? Well, that's what I'm doing."

Cora pursed her lips, but after some hard staring between the girls, a heavy sigh sagged her shoulders.

"I'll excuse it this time."

Cora turned to Yvette who'd been trying to look small. She already felt guilty for leaving. Cora wasn't looking at her too hard, though, and approached her in a bustling flutter.

"Let me check out your back," she said. "He hit it bad, didn't he? I saw how you was clutching it at breakfast."

"It's…alright." Yvette assured, voice pitching with nervous laughter. "It's getting better. Just have to stretch it out."

"Well, there must be a bruise or a cut. Let me take a look."

Cora freed the ties of Yvette's dress and Yvette gathered the material, turning herself away. The fabric dropped to her waist regardless, the mirror behind her throwing her image over the wall.

Cora observed Yvette's back from the mirror, head cocked, scratching her head.

"Well, that's strange. There aint nothing."

"It was only sore," Yvette explained, voice fast. "Nothing a warm bath won't draw out of me."

"You must not be the bruising type," Cora said, voice trailing off. "I've seen niggers with red splotches, black and blue splotches. _Something_ usually show up."

"Not the bruising type," Yvette said. She crooked her back again, rubbing as if to assure there was still hurt there.

"Well…okay then. Use that bath to work it out. Then ya'll come back to the kitchen and help."

At that she shot a look at Coco and flew out the door.

Both women waited a long second before they let out their held breaths.

"That was…" Coco started, not sure how to finish.

"Too close." With her dress awkwardly draped half off her body, Yvette shifted it back in place.

"You should just get undressed," Coco said. "I can braid your hair from outside the tub."

Yvette hesitated for just a moment before shedding the rest of the clothes. She'd gotten undressed in front of Coco before but it still made her want to cover up. Yvette drew an arm over her bare chest as she climbed into the tub; just the dip of her shins clouded the blue water with silt and sand.

Yvette grimaced, not realizing how filthy she was. It was a lofty concern, a slave who bothered on whether she was clean, but Yvette just didn't like filth weighing her body. That throw into the lake at the auction had done little, especially after riding across the land on horseback and falling to the dirt as she and Billy did their act.

Like a mud skipper out of the sea too long, Yvette sunk under the water, feeling happy. The water felt welcome around her limbs.

"You're grinning like a dog." Coco giggled, tossing her a hunk of soap, Yvette caught it with fumbling hands.

The girl kneeled to the side of the tub and started jabbering on about everything. How the bath system works, Yvette's _easy_ hair, Cora's motherly nature, Stephen's anger… the bath walls were high and Yvette felt enclosed within its deep mouth. As Coco braided her hair and chattered, Yvette let her eyes close.

She thought of men.

Who could blame her? Mama and Belisles' still strolled in the recesses of her mind, but there wasn't a mystery to what happened with them. What Coco had said soothed her a little. About living in the present. What happened was a closed book, her family fates sealed between the pages. Complete.

But Calvin Candie, Billy Crash…they were scrawled sentences stopped mid-letter. A book with its spine gaping open and most of the pages blank. But those first sentences were definitely there, inked in pure black permanence. Very real and very unfinished.

Yvette ran the jasmine-scented bar across the ridges of collarbones. Where did Billy wash up? She wondered. And how? This bath has a shower too, the spraying head dropping above her. Billy looked like a shower guy, the type to slide into the water and scrub hard at the clay caked under his nails, legs, and in other crevices, objects…

Yvette's eyes snapped back open. She gave coco a sideways glance, feeling caught. But the girl hummed to herself, combing and braiding away. Yvette let her gaze fall again, sinking deeper into the water.

It wasn't the first time she'd thought of Billy's…body. He'd forced her to that first time, when he'd murmured in French that the way she clung to him made him hard. While she withdrew at his words, a tiny, curious voice in her head had wanted to let her hand drift from his chest and touch lower, to know how a hard man would feel like.

He'd thought of him twice the other night, the second time when preparing to head back for Candieland. Billy'd looked at her strange and started walking in funny wide strides. When she peaked over and discovered why, it'd made her core feel hot, breath dense, but she'd hid it all well by turning her head away.

Yvette's soap clutching hand slipped under the water, gliding up and down the top of her legs.

Then there was Calvin. He'd kissed her twice, something a night of thinking over hadn't made her grow tired of, nor clarify. The second kiss, quick as it was, had a sultry lingering to it. If it'd last a second longer he might've pushed, pushed his lips harder on her, maybe even nibbled.

She wasn't sure how she'd react in response. He was her master and if he wanted to kiss, could she really pull away? Hmm. The real question was would she want to?

Yvette's hand slid to the insides of her thighs, strolling along the soft walls of her legs. Billy – Calvin. Calvin – Billy.

The men didn't leave her head as she washed the place below her belly. But at the first touch, Yvette's toes curled, sensitive. For a moment she'd locked on some… feeling. Yvette paced her breaths into a numbered pattern and kept washing. One check with an eye assured her Coco wasn't even disturbed, and the murky water concealed Yvette's hand.

_I'm not doing anything special,_ she told herself. _Just cleaning my body. _

Still, feeling sheepish, she moved on from between her legs and rotated the bar across her hips.

In a situation bare and vulnerable as this, it was difficult to think of those men without a craving budding inside her. Yvette grazed the soap between her breasts, thinking again…

What if there'd been that extra push with Calvin? Might he have called off her punishment and taken into some secret, shadowy room? Would he have kissed her more, pressed against her more? Yvette's breath went uneven at the thoughts.

And what of Billy? If she had slid her hand down the rough front of his vest and down to the rise in his jeans. Would he tighten beneath her, encourage her hand to seize it? Would he help her along and move her wrist as she squeezed or stroked…

Gosh. Stroking!

She'd been running the soap across her nipples, and a little too much. A goatee of bubbles had formed around her chin at the lather she'd made. Yvette stopped long enough to get a hold of her breath, looking up with one eye at Coco. She was knotting the back of Yvette's braids into a twist, concentrating hard.

_She hadn't noticed. _Yvette thought, gulping.

A thumping had dominated her heart, matching the smaller pulse between her thighs. What was all this? She wasn't a girl who touched herself. Occasionally she'd had her urges, but batted them off with a pillow to the face and sleep.

_So why here? There was a person in the room, my goodness. And why now? _

It was one of those idle questions for the answer wasn't hidden. It was that darn open book, the gaping spine with those unfinished sentences.

"Done," Coco said, rising up.

"I'm not," Yvette mumbled to herself.

"What was that?"

"Nothing!" Yvette's face went hot as her submerged body. "Um, is there cloth to wrap myself in?"

Coco handed over a towel, then she clapped, giddy.

"You look so cute. My best work yet."

Yvette climbed out of the tub and inspected her hair in the mirror. Braids flowed back from her head like a crown, framing her small face.

"I adore it," Yvette said, voice breathy, She already wondered who else might like it…

Coco beamed.

"We could make it a regular routine, you know. If you're staying around, that is."

Yvette went still.

"Am I going somewhere?"

Coco bit her thumbnail.

"I dunno. You stayed outside, but you served this morning. That must mean Calvin don't know what to do with you and hasn't told Stephen to put you up somewhere yet. So I don't know where you'll be."

Yvette didn't like the sound of that. She'd had enough of the shifting around, being pulled in different directions. She wanted a place and to stay, secure. Her neck felt heavy just thinking about all the procedures she might have to stuff into her head before being secure to one job. One place to stand.

_Just one…_

As Yvette thought of those unfinished sentences, she wondered if _just one_ was really so simple.


	10. Red and Blue

**Chapter 10:**

Red and Blue

* * *

_**Drink down your gin and kerosene, and come spit on bridges with me… I keep my jealously close – it's all my own. And if you say this makes you happy then I'm not the only one lying.**_

The fellow did _not_ want to follow.

It was just a little talk. Nothing to kick up dust about. Yet Billy was waddling back as if Calvin had a whip in his hand and they were heading to the beating trees instead of his office. A gleam over the shoulder revealed the lake sized gap between Calvin and his right hand. Right hand wasn't the word right then, though. More like backside.

With hands to the pockets, Billy's gaze explored upward. Nothing interesting there unless the beam-lined ceilings were an aesthetically pleasing sight. Calvin would have to get some niggers feathering those grimy rafters today, while he thought about it.

Stephen's mutterings crawled up the walls and Calvin cringed, picking up speed. The blackie loved thrusting his flat nose into any news he sniffed out. A useful trait, Calvin had to admit, for it made him a good watchman. Infuriating when the nigger got pushing in _Calvin's _business, though.

The only way Calvin had been able to pry off his leech was assuring the head slave he'd get a talking with afterward.

By the time Calvin reached the office, Billy was still paddling from the other side of the lake. Sliding inside, Calvin went to the wall, head tipped against it and eyes heavy lidded. Billy could take all summer if it fancied him. It was still early, too early for the little work Calvin actually had that day. He could wait.

Finally, the man of the morning arrived. Billy inched into the room, snapping the door shut. He didn't move away from it, tweaking the knob beneath his hands. If Crash planned on slipping out quick, he could rethink that idea. Calvin had multiple concerns and time was the first ingredient to getting it all straight.

"Perfectly clean air to stand in over here," He said, easing a hand over the room's unoccupied center.

With a delayed nod, Billy pulled deeper into the room while Calvin looked toward the window. Glow clutched the edges of the drapes, light aching to get inside. Striding over he parted the curtains, wincing as bright heat ate the cool darkness. Calvin faced Billy again, noting how the sunlight smeared the grim lines off Billy's face. Just some, though.

"There," Candie said, passing by the Billy statue to prop onto the edge of his desk.

Billy followed Calvin's movements, sun gleaming off his back but clouds on his face.

"You tighter than a corset," Calvin said, inspecting the rigid man. "What's your itch?"

"Nothin, nothing," A chuckle squeezed between Billy's teeth. "Just indigestion from the rich food. Ain't used to all that, you know."

Calvin was convinced Billy Crash had enough serious in him for all Mississippi's courts, sick bays, and cathedrals. To counter his sober buddy, it was Calvin's moral obligation to be the saloon and club of the two.

He smirked, reaching for the smoke on his desk.

"And that is your fault." Calvin stuck the end of the stick in his mouth. "No one depriving you of the luxuries of this home but yourself."

Calvin clawed around for a match but stopped, his brain replaying the last time he'd been intimate with a cigarette. It wasn't real life, but in that dream, when the new slave girl pumped smoke in his face. Them strange black letters had beat him bloody but the smoke rolling from her mouth and into his eyes…that's what clung to his brain, wouldn't let go. The memory was another black leech on his skin.

Calvin pulled the cig from his lips, muttering _forget it_. He didn't smoke much in the morning, anyways.

"Anyhow," he shifted back to the floor. "We gotta figure something out."

Billy eyed the cigarette on Calvin's desk as if he could use the smoke.

"'Bout what?" He asked.

"Positions." Calvin walked around his desk. He spun some papers under his fingers, disturbing the orderly piles. "Arrangements."

Billy scratched the back of his neck.

"Want to try that in American English?"

_That's all I know, Billy boy_.

Aloud, he said "I want your judgment on what position to get the new girl in."

"Position."

Billy said it like he was hovering a foot over hot water. Did he think Calvin was just bursting with traps and trip ups this morning? A chuckle unsettled Calvin's shoulders. Maybe so, but he'd made _that _request with all pure honey honesty.

He couldn't help poking the Billy statue, though.

"See, I was thinking she'd do well on the bottom. Doesn't look experienced enough for straddling so maybe…"

"You're real funny. What'd you really want me for?"

Calvin exposed his clean palms as proof they weren't bloody.

"I'm trying to tell you. Positions. We need to figure out where to place her."

"As I said before, she cooks, cleans, speaks—"

"Yeah yeah, that's jolly and all but I gots me a five figure purchase and I want to milk it right. I'd usually leave deciding to Stephen, but he's too simple for this. Two working brains are better than one. That's why I'm asking you."

Billy sifted his jaw.

"Well," he said. His eyes turned to the rim of his hat. "Brunhilde's old job is out of the question."

His tone came down like a hand on solid wood, full of finality.

"Of course…" Calvin said, brow arching. "Aint no art on her back or runaway stamp to qualify her."

Billy blinked like knocked out of some trance.

"Yeah," he said. "For those reasons."

His shoulders had rounded a bit, feet heavy on the boot points.

Calvin scanned Billy with an impervious eye. For a man who lived in blocky coats and drawstring hats, Billy was as polished like a factory boot. His shave looked clean, neatened out. And at breakfast his cheeks were tinted red, as if scrubbed deep to the pores.

He'd only seen Billy this cleaned up on two occasions; his own mother's funeral and one of his relatives' weddings.

Calvin strummed his chin but knew he would need to focus on the issue at hand; the girl. He would let his observations slide. For now.

"How about kitchens," Calvin suggested.

Billy shrugged, uncommitted.

"Pony?"

"Is that really her scene?"

_You just don't want her doing nothing, do you? _

"Nah, guess not. She's more rabbit than pony. Hell." Calvin flicked a wrist toward the window. "She can't work out there. Would fall out in five minutes. But just doing kitchens and house make her a dime in a dozen when she cost me a_ real_ dozen." Calvin's eyes shifted, going low. Frustration rising. "You put me in a real spot, Bills, buying her."

"Well it ain't like you can give her back now," His tone was swift. "You gave me that money to get a slave. Not my fault if you was pulling a trick and the money actually got spent."

Calvin smirked, his irritations simmering down. The boy made sense.

"Right you are." He let out a breath. "It's too soon is all. We'll have to switch her up. Some days in kitchens, some on house, others at the club. Hell, might even take her to town to grab my shopping. Good idea, yea?"

"Alright," Billy fell into a lazy stride around the room, and Calvin watched closely. When he removed his hat, toweling his temples with a knuckle, Calvin's squint got thinner and thinner. "Sounds…reasonable."

Billy was full of intentions, brooding, smoky emotions, and Calvin needed to know them. He enjoyed shoveling. Liked to break up the soil in a man's head and get to the soft earth, see what slugs and grubs were wiggling underneath. He had a particular lead on a worm today.

"Got a sizzling hot night planned, Billy?" Calvin asked.

Billy stopped his pacing.

"What you talking about?"

Calvin gestured as if to explain it all.

"You look clean, all washed up."

Billy looked down at himself then back up, face placid.

"Not seeing the sizzle," he said, a wry smile on his lips.

His smartass face said one thing, the fidgeting hands and pacing feet a whole other.

Calvin paused, pulling out the shovel again.

"She did good at breakfast this morning, don't you think?"

Billy delayed. His reply came out slow, handpicked.

"Sure did."

_Plow, plow, plow. _

"Still didn't get a chance to thank you for disciplining Yvette. Seems you did a detailed job."

There was a crack as the soil gave. Calvin's lips lifted at the corners.

_Got you._

Billy had flashed the look. The look Calvin had contemplated over his syrupy pancakes. Whenever the girl was mentioned, a strange light would hit Billy's eyes. It'd fully blossomed now and Billy's downturned face couldn't hide it. Oh no, Calvin saw that worm wiggle its head. Might be tucked back in the dirt, but Calvin saw it.

Got you.

Adjusting his tie, Calvin stood, back proud. He was no student for insects, but with the little brown bug crawling inside of Billy, he was mighty curious to identity its species.

"You kicked her hard, huh?"

Calvin casted his line, but as he did, felt a little hooked himself. A minimal tug at his chest.

He blamed the dream.

It still cloaked him in some disturbed feeling. As if he actually felt bad for ordering the new girl hit up. He'd thought on what it all could mean. Even came up with a short handful of possible reasons. Three, in fact.

Was it guilt? Perhaps a warning woulda been enough for her, especially since she'd tripped over invisible robe. Yvette hadn't known the no speaking French to Monsieur rule and apparently no one bothered telling her.

Favoritism? Nah, couldn't be. Calvin didn't know her well enough yet, _although_ it didn't take him long to pick his favorites. Yvette met his simple criteria neatly: cute, canny, and caramel colored. Caramel.

He'd been wondering if she tasted sweet like it, too. Their kisses weren't enough. Just snatches of breath, too brief and without the push of brawling lips to tell. Nothing like how a real kiss should be. This led to the last potential reasoning for why he felt that tug on his chest when he thought about her.

Affection.

Calvin scoffed.

Scoffed, but lingered…

Not wanting to waddle in the self exam too long, Calvin slapped his knees, glancing up at Billy.

_Which one you dealing with here, buddy…_

Guilt seemed plausible for Billy. He'd seen the man hesitate over many a black body before tightening up and issuing punishment. Might have been harder with the girl, what with her looking so innocent-like. Pretty.

Favorites. Had he'd gone to liking her over other niggers? Calvin would respect that; even he had his little late night craving in Sheba. But favoritism wasn't too fitting. Hell, the man didn't saddle close enough to the niggers to get a _real _fondness to any. Calvin'd seen Coco trailing him around once or twice but Billy never had much to say to her and she'd just sag away. So favorites couldn't be it.

The only other option was affection. Affection, a dangerous path for anyone to take. Nigger love was black tar, as he'd warned that fooling Dr. Schultz when he'd been pretending to eye up Brunhilde. Nigger love caught you, stuck to you. Calvin sometimes thought he had it on him, looking at Sheba, but knew to climb out when the tar got too sticky. Back to the safely to a simple, surface craving. The sweet tooth.

Gaze lifted from behind lowered lids, Calvin caught Billy's eye. It was time to fish.

"It must've been hard, hitting a cute nigger."

Billy hesitated.

"Not really."

Calvin's brows rose, not expecting an outright lie.

"Not really," Calvin repeated, mimicking Billy's blank tone. "So it was just another merry ole day kicking a bitch then."

Calvin knew Billy enough, knew this whole business affected him. Of course it must've been harder. Especially since the girl actually looked more human than the ones Billy dealt with daily.

_So let him say_ _yes_, Calvin thought, _let him say she was like the others_ _so I can rip the skin off this bluff_.

When he looked up at Billy, what he saw had his brows knitting together. Billy's eyes were all filled up. Kerosene, flames. More emotion than he'd thought.

Calvin was uncovering the dirt and about to identify this worm. He had Billy and there was no escape…

"Nah," was all Billy said.

_I'll be damned._

The muscles in Calvin's stomach clenched.

Billy wasn't walking in his straight path no more. He was waddling through jungles, acting in ways Calvin hadn't known him to act. Friends with the man since they were two bobbing heads in a stock of grown kneecaps and he thought he knew it all. But this? These lies?

Whirling toward him, Calvin drew up, aiming to read every detail on Billy's face.

"Care to explain?" He asked, the bite in his voice unmasked. "I am mighty curious."

Billy pursed his lips, looking skyward, thoughtful, then out it rolled.

"When she screamed, it was like she was screaming right through me." He said. A drop of silence. He looked down, the fire put out of his gaze. "It was by no means merry, none of it."

Calvin stepped back as if spotting something ethereal. Billy truly had wandered, and in the process stumbled on something. There it was, moving like ghosts in his eyes. Billy had stared into the mouth of darkness.

Calvin wouldn't deny that he himself was protected in his fortress. Away from those niggers burning under the American sun. Calvin turned from Billy to approach the window, looked out at them. The niggers were already working, sun-greased skin ablaze. Calvin hardly ever looked closely. Just rode his carriage through and thought of the billfolds they brought in instead of the bodies.

Billy, though, was sludge deep in nigger limbs. The white man's blessed burden to redeem those creatures. And like any creature, they required controlling, and the switch of a whip was the best means to do it.

Sometimes the black bodies reminded him of their roots, though. The tangled jungles from which they came. The girl's scream must've done that to Crash. Other niggers were more tamed, but knowing a bit of where she'd come from, she hadn't been restrained right at all.

So Billy wasn't feeling guilt, favoritism, or affection for her at all. Just a dark, deep cognition.

Calvin pressed a hand against the window's glass. Heat under his palm and niggers in his eyes. He was trying to realize, like Billy had, feel the screams of a nigger girl and glimpse the darkness; he whipped his palm away before the emotions trickled into his chest.

He just wasn't ready for all that now. It was too vast. With two quick pulls of the wrists, Calvin sealed the curtains. Billy stared at him strangely, a twist in his lips.

"Too hot?" He asked as he replaced the hat to his head.

"Yeah," Calvin said. "Overheated. Let's get going."

Billy stuffed his fingers into his belt hoops as he caught up with Calvin, who was already hustling out of there. As they descended the staircase, Calvin called out to Stephen, the head slave materializing at the end of the stairs. He was furry browed, black skinned, animal eyed.

_The white man's burden. _

Calvin threw a glance to Billy, but the man kept his eyes set ahead. That light hadn't turned off, though, and Calvin knew that the worm was still very much alive.

And he smiled. Unsure, but hopeful.

* * *

Billy couldn't help wondering what the hell just happened.

He had been there –same room and same conversation- and hadn't a clue about half of it.

Did he say something wrong? Right? When, what and how?

Calvin tried to make his inquiries innocent but Billy sensed each peck and prob. Knew how he was trying to see under Billy's skin, and it'd been a fight to keep him out.

Not because Billy wanted Calvin knowing what went on in his head… or on too many late occasions, his chest and his loins. He simply feared his secret thoughts were plain for the other man to spot.

Such silly, insistent feelings. Tickling him like they _were_ fleas in his bed.

He'd meant to leave them on his sheets, but they lured him down the path to the big house that morning, stuck to him on the way to breakfast, and itched like crazy when he finally saw the one who pinned the itchy buggers on him in the first place.

Who was Yvette and what'd she done to Billy Crash?

He'd been risky since she'd come. Slighting John instead of humoring him to tie her up to the horse till they got out of sight. Smudging orders from Calvin, even coaching the girl in the ways to keep up with his lie.

All this shiftiness made him feel ill, and surely he was feverish to do it.

Disciplining slaves wasn't a favorite pastime, but Calvin had even said no marks with her. To actually slap Yvette around would've been easy. Quick and easy. There were worse things he could and had done in his life.

So why'd the idea of actually hitting her wring his stomach tighter than a wet wag? More so than actually getting caught in the lie?

Calvin was chatting with Stephen, all merry tidings. He glanced over at Billy on occasion, looking at him as if he'd uncovered a well of black gold. Billy formed a smile back, twitchy and forced.

He still didn't trust himself.

Calvin hadn't gone on and asked what he wanted, though he implied the hell out of it. Now, finally free of his office, he was burning with unspoken words.

Words he could never say.

To avoid the risk of a slip, Billy trapped his tongue between his teeth. Unlike Calvin's new attitude, the words so fired to get out were not of merry tidings. They were hostile snatches of speech, possessive assertions foreign to Billy's nature.

Things like _Yeah,_ _I got my eyes on Yvette, so keep yours off._

Billy nearly staked his tongue to keep from saying that.

All this lying and concealment made the rooms too hot. Replacing his hat, Billy set it on one of the statues figures bordering the staircase. Calvin looked at the statue, now wearing a hat, and chortled.

"Looks better on him," he said, elbowing Billy. The Calvin way of friendliness.

When had this man gone from prodding to pleasantries? That was what Billy wanted to know. It must have been something he said. The right thing, judging from the happy Candie attitude. The right thing, but what.

Billy's goal had been simple during the conversation; play dumb and get out. He'd done that best he could. But when Calvin asked Billy if he enjoyed kicking the bitch… he'd nearly spat on the expensive carpet.

And he'd gone to seeing colors.

Red. Lots of red.

_Bitch_? _You know her name and that's the word you wanna use?_

At least nigger was a schoolbook term these days. Numbing out with its frequent use, almost commonplace. But bitch. Yvette was…cute, a witty little spitfire, and Billy didn't like his…er, the girl being called no bitch.

Childhood bud, boss or not, he'd wanted to knock the rot out of Calvin Candie's mouth when he said that. Any weaker man would've, but Billy wasn't weak. And he reined himself like he would Sandman. Squeezed his legs together and calmed the flame in his eyes with soothing words. And just in time, he'd calmed down.

He had enough control to harness the urge to strike Calvin, just not the feeling that gave him the reason. And, unfortunately, there were many. Besides his usual reasons for wanting to whack his infuriating friend. Reasons he should never have.

Reasons like maybe, sort of wanting to have kissed Yvette instead of watching _him_ do it.

He'd had the chance the other night. He read it in the way her gaze stuck to him, bright curiosity in the large eyes. The way her lips parted under the press of his thumb. And her breath, going shallow, thick but shallow…

But Calvin messed that up too.

Right when Billy had his mind on doing it…his thoughts flashed back to Calvin, an ugly image he hadn't set on remembering. When the man had pinned Yvette's mouth with his kiss like the greedy bastard he was.

Calvin had a woman. Couldn't he just stick to her and leave one for…well, it wasn't like Calvin hadn't nudged him about taking a girl to a backroom once or twice. It's just no one ever caught Billy's eye and held it.

Not like the girl Calvin was currently set to stamping his lips on.

Billy stabbed his tongue again, which had a mind to say more irrational things to the cheery man before him.

Then Yvette mentioned Calvin kissing her twice, some thoughtful look in her eyes when she'd said it. Billy wanted to take her shoulders and say _well? You like it, then? _But realizing his tread down dangerous territory, he'd left before acting so foolish.

Yvette's feelings weren't his business.

_She _wasn't his business.

It hadn't stopped Billy from imagining how it might've been like to kiss her. How he would've slid that finger off her lip and stop it under her chin. How he'd lean in slowly to build up her nerves, get her heart beating before connecting their lips and erasing that rotten taste of Candie off her mouth.

He'd obsessed over it all night. The idea of scrubbing Calvin's mark off of her to replace it with…what'd she got to calling him? Ah yea, _Nice Guy_ Billy.

But then –back in Calvin's office- things went blue. Billy had recalled what happened before the not-quite kiss.

Yvette's screams had filled his ears with the twistings of distress. He'd kicked open that door himself, trying to get a rise out of her for their act. But instead of backing up to let her piece herself together, he'd gotten in her face. Another reason Billy probably needed a doctor.

A weeping woman meant dart the other way.

Not kneel at her feet and force her to talk to you about it.

He knew this lesson well, for Ms. Lara had taught him.

Billy tried to help her once. Some fellow had taken her out then broken it off after the first rendezvous. Billy had said, in all helpfulness, "maybe you're just not his type" and Lara had launched her shoe at him and broken that too.

Some soft, traumatized spot still felt the heel strike at his thigh, the limp he'd had all day from it. His fears weren't for nothing either, because when Billy tried to help Yvette, she had hit him like Ms. Lara had. Not with sharp edged boot heels, though, but words.

_Dusty white boy…master_… still, Billy took each strike, unmoving. These words were sharper than that shoe and yet he didn't want to limp away. Refused to limp away.

It was his fault, after all. Bringing the things up that encouraged such a holler.

Ah, the scream.

Billy remembered now. Sometime after the red and between the blue, Billy had told Calvin about the scream. He didn't think it'd have much effect but Calvin had gawked, first at Billy then out the window, before ending the conversation. And there they stood, a happy happy Candie and a confused confused Billy.

But unlike the Great Monsieur himself, Billy had no interest in digging. Thwarting Calvin's suspicions was enough mental labor for today.

Now to stop being a suspect in the first place. Meaning no more lying. No more covering up his orders. No more dawdling with Candieland property.

No more Yvette.

_It'll be easy_, Billy assured himself, ignoring the protest stirring in his chest.

It just wasn't right, a man feeling all he had in one long day, now bleeding into another. Especially for a woman he had no rights to claim. Some other man's slave.

Unlike Calvin, Billy didn't own everything he touched. All he had was himself. Best he kept it that way.

So he'd stop the ride before it went any further. It just took some gates, moats, and barriers. He would build them.

Billy's separate lodging was a benefit. He'd keep to his side of the land and work in peace. If he couldn't see her, he couldn't think of her. Then all the irrational feelings rushing at him would roll away like tumbleweed. There'd be no more of Ms. I'mma be cute and make Billy break rules for me. Get worked up over me. Stay up half the night wishing he'd kiss me.

"Well that's it," Calvin was saying, drawing Billy out of his head. "Go'on and snatch up Yvette for me, Stephen. I wanna explain some things to her."

Billy's shoulders locked.

_No, no, no. For once, Stephen, say no._

"Sho thing, Masta."

Billy cursed.

He cut his eyes to the door. Straight through and far away, that's where he would go.

"I'mma head out," He said. Work and Yvette-avoiding to be done and all.

Calvin clapped him on the shoulder.

"Alright, I won't hold ya," he said.

Billy tried to slide from under the fingers latched onto his coat. It wasn't working.

"But you're holding me..." he mumbled.

"By the way," Calvin said. "I want to thank you, again. For doing what you did. What you always done, really."

"Not a problem." Not this and definitely not now. He could hear Stephen shouting, hurrying the girl from a distant room. Billy's heart went a racing, trying to make its own escape.

"Yeah," Calvin continued on and his claws pinned deeper into Billy's shoulder. Billy winced, wanting to break that hand. "You're a good man, you know. Shrewd."

"Mmm hmmm…"

Billy could hear her footsteps. Fluttering, unsure but steady.

"The world needs men like you, Billy. You see me, I couldn't—" Calvin stopped.

Billy glanced over at him, brow lilted.

"Couldn't what?"

Calvin's jaw shifted, struggling with something. He released a breath.

"Ah, nothing nothing." The claw loosed from Billy's shoulder. "You go on."

_He says something interesting, and now he wants to let me go. _

There was no time to concern himself, though, and Billy clambered forward like an eager wind. His legs were shaky, filled with lightening. It was like he could sense her approach, feel her body with his mind as she neared his space. Billy had just reached the door when her voice stopped him short. The lightening zipped up his form, sparking his already too-fast beating chest.

"Bonjour, Monsieur Candie."

A kink stiffened Billy's neck. If he shifted a little, it'd pop right out. If he shifted a little, he could _unintentionally_ look back and see the one girl he needed to wane off from. What was the harm in it, one little glance back? He'd stay away from now on, after it. One last little look, that was all he'd grant himself …

Billy popped that kink, letting his eyes slide backward.

* * *

Let me know what you think! I'd love to hear it. _Definitely_ more soon...


	11. Hands

**Chapter 11:**

Hands

* * *

_**He loves to romance them, reckless abandon. Holdin' me for ransom, upper echelon. He says to "be cool" but I don't know how yet. Wind in my hair, hand on the back of my neck**__** …**_

Standing before Monsieur Candie wasn't like the other two moments.

The first time, she drifted to him. A heavy strut in swaying skirts, drawn forward by the hopeful confidence of impressing him. The second time she stepped in fear. Calvin was quicksand, his surface concealing the sticky mess to befall her once she took that wayward step. This third time was plain uncomfortable.

Was it worth it? Yvette's voyage with a bar of perfumed soap and a deep sea thought (or two)? Could those fleeting pulses she pursued in the bathtub outlive the heat firing her cheeks?

A _Bonjour, Monsieur Candie_, and still no answer. Monsieur Candie just stared at her, fingers clasped in front of his slacks, an inquiring squint in his eye.

She felt bare, like he was reading her with that squint.

Yvette stooped, not sure if to pull from her curtsy or keep scanning the floor. She'd had a sharp sense of her body earlier in the hour; now she had no clue what to do with it. Did Candie see the guilt coiling her spine, her constant shift from one heel to another?

"Bonjour to _you_, Yvette."

Yvette's eyes flew up, caught off guard by his sudden speech.

"You been enjoying yourself the morning?" Calvin asked. Sliver flashed in his grin, a bright glimmer in the sparsely lit foyer.

Yvette nearly tripped, her stooped form hunching even more.

_He knows! _

The hair Coco had so prettily pinned and twisted for Yvette was a liability now. She didn't have her curls to push against her cheek in a blanket of comfort, to hide her face within.

Was Yvette wearing her act like a bleeding scarlet letter on her chest? Did a man sense it when a girl…explored other worlds? She hadn't journeyed far. More like a step into Atlantis than a full expedition into the sunken city. A stroll across the pavement of her thighs and, well, maybe some sudsy built up at the entrance, but she hadn't walked _that _far.

Yvette's gaze landed back on Calvin. She hoped the apology came through in her eyes, for the thickness in her throat kept her from speaking.

She hadn't meant to fantasy about him in that bath. Both Calvin and Billy just appeared, warm water loosening muscles and inhibitions. Yvette had gotten overly curious, thinking too hard on Billy's body as she washed her own, playing too much with pictures of what might've happened the night before if Calvin's lips had pressed on hers a little deeper.

_Mama was right. I _am_ too spacey. If I weren't I would never have been thinking of…_

Yvette's thoughts trailed off, another one giving her pause. Really, she wasn't sure if she could blame her fancy of the two Mississippi men entirely on her head. It wasn't like she'd drawn her material from thin air. Monsieur Candie had kissed her. Twice. What's a girl to do _but _think on it? Then there were the naughty tidbits Billy inspired. If he'd never made that comment about a certain rock in his pocket, a rock he hadn't shaken out long after that first horse ride…

Ha. She hadn't ambled into unknown territory on her own. Billy and Calvin had handed her the torch.

Yvette righted her crane's neck, facing Monsieur Candie square on. Calvin couldn't shame her for something he helped stir. She would tell him just that, too, instead of standing there with hot cheeks under his little prod about _enjoying_ herself.

"I can't be sorry for—"

"I hope you liked those—"

Both stopped, staring at the other.

Calvin's head tilted just the slightest.

"What was that?" Calvin asked.

"Uh, after you, Monsieur."

With the breach, she wasn't so enthused to defend her acts any longer.

"I was saying," said Calvin, "That I hope you liked those biscuits. I personally prefer mine drownin' in honey, but we'd run out just yesterday."

Yvette bit her lip. Biscuits and honey? Certainly that wasn't a code for…certain journeys. Maybe she was overreacting. Calvin couldn't really know about her dual-inspired exploration that morning. Right? He had no evidence. Unless men truly did have an extra sense for it...

"Now," Calvin stared at Yvette from creased eyes. "What you sorry for?"

"Uh." Yvette rubbed the base of her neck, mind darting about for an explanation. "I was sorry for…"

"Being messy?"

The urge to hide behind her hair arrested her. Oh, He _definitely_ knew.

"I … wasn't messy about it." She said, fumbling over her tongue.

"Really," Calvin laughed mildly, angling a finger towards Yvette's blouse. "Then how do you explain those?"

Hmm? With furrowed brows, she glanced down. Remnants of her breakfast clung to her blouse.

Yvette swiped clammy hands against her sides, releasing her jitters. So there was no scarlet letter on the chest of her uniform. She just wore crumbs. She, Coco and the rest of the house staff were eating the breakfast leftovers when Stephen had burst into the kitchen and ushered Yvette out.

Still, the idea of Calvin knowing…it made her stomach flip, and she didn't think it was in pure shame.

Fact was, she'd felt empowered in that bath. In charge for once, not under someone orders. She controlled her own movements, a fragment of freedom grasped in her hands. Even if Calvin and Billy had prompted her desire to… explore, it wasn't an unwilling voyage.

Yvette knew Mississippi was hot, but she expected only the weather to make her sweat. Not thoughts of her master's lips, or whatever lay under his work hand's blue jeans…

Yvette's gaze drifted down, abruptly reminding her that she had crumbs on her. She grimaced at her untidy appearance. With Stephen shoving her out the door, she'd had no choice but to gulp down the rest of her food and rush out to meet her master. Apparently the biscuits wanted to meet him too.

"These darn things," Yvette murmured, her gaze searching Calvin's features. The monsieur was a primp man, clean from head to shoulders. Would he reprimand her for her filth?

As if reading her doubts, he batted his fingers, dismissive.

"Don't worry your pretty head bout getting messy," Calvin said. "I'm sure you was just in touch with yourself."

Iron dropped in Yvette's stomach.

"In _touch_."

Why touch, of all the words he could use? She was beginning to doubt Monsieur Candie's ignorance once more, thrills and discomfort clashing in her again.

Monsieur Candie reached out a hand, capturing Yvette's wrist. Even with his firm grip, his fingers dipped into her skin, supple. Of course, for the only things he probably lifted were wine bottles and forks. She could hardly talk though, what with how the John man at the auction guffawed at her "shaven ass" hands… Still, Calvin's were soft for a man. Yvette recalled the tougher rub of Billy's hands against hers in the cabin last night, when he'd caught her fingers and shifted them between his own.

Candie turned over Yvette's wrist, lifting it so the candlelight illuminated her skin.

"You was getting in touch," he said, "With your nature."

It took Yvette a beat to process what he meant, still floating around in thoughts of hands. Then sense trickled in, honey slow and lemon bitter.

Yvette's nose wrinkled like she caught a bad smell, and the terrible aroma wafted right off of Calvin. She slipped her wrist from his grip, the echoed clack of her heels stepping back striking through the foyer.

Her nature_. _Did Calvin mean something wild, like the drawn depictions she often saw of bloated-lipped blacks, leaping about with rolling gazes like chimps and apes?

"Please excuse me, Monsieur," Yvette said. Her skin felt tight and itchy, unsuitable for her bones. "I was so busy picking the ticks from my hair that I must've overlooked these crumbs."

Yvette was daring fate, and if Billy was around she knew he'd be shaking his head at her to keep her mouth shut. But she and Calvin had agreed to frankness, yes? So that was it. She thought Monsieur Candie was a jackass.

_I'm a thing to him_, she thought. _Just like to the rest of the world._

It took a high cash price to get her, but even then she wasn't worth more than any other novelty bought at a shop.

_I wasted time thinking about him like I had_, Yvette thought, her lips twitching into a frown._ Now I wish I hadn't. _

Candie caressed his bearded chin, looking thoughtful for a moment. Then, laughter, booming out in torrents.

"Ticks, in your hair. A joke." He looked pleased as a dog finally realizing he'd been chasing his own tail. "Good with those, aren't ya? Cute. I could make you my jester."

"Yes," Yvette said, resisting an eye roll. "I'd make a fine circus act."

Calvin's laughter faded out, a smile building on his lips. His next words were light, though his gaze was heavy.

"I wouldn't get too good," he said.

Yvette pasted her lips together, her head warning of danger. She needed to push Calvin's nature comment from her mind. If not, her temper would get the best of her. And if that happened, she'd be tempted to get _too good_.

Which wasn't good at all.

"Understood, Monsieur."

If Calvin decided to punish her, she'd be damned to the switch. Billy wasn't around to dish the reprimanding, or save her. She imagined what punishment might be like at Calvin's hands, each image producing the writhing, aching sight of herself.

Yvette curtseyed, using the moment to force her features into the semblance of indifference. Biscuit fragments followed her dip toward the floor.

Calvin scanned her over.

"You're dripping, Yvette."

His voice slinked across her body like crawling fingers, stroking every inch of exposed skin. Yvette broke from her curtsy, standing like a board was pressed to her spine.

"Uh, I'll clean those up." Her voice was limp.

"Someone will get to it later," Calvin said, his shrug loose. "Right now, you just worry about yourself. Getting presentable."

Calvin drew out a finger, slipping it under Yvette's chin, and she felt the plank splaying beneath her. As Calvin's finger weaved a path from her throat to the tops of her crumb-coated breasts, a little sound crawled out, deep from her throat.

Calvin dragged his finger away, his eyes full of humor.

_He's playing with you_. Yvette's mouth felt dry as a hollowed out bone. _Don't let him._

Getting rid of the biscuit crumbs that started it all; that should be her focus. Not the tingling in her veins and surely not wandering fingers. She'd had enough of both for a day.

Yvette dusted the scraps trailing from her belly to chest. They were numerous and clingy, though, and soon her sweeps became swats. The biscuits didn't have the honey that Calvin liked, but the white fragments sure stuck like they were glued down.

Speaking of things being stuck, Monsieur Candie's gaze was tearing holes through her blouse.

He didn't look so playful now, his gaze narrowed on Yvette's chest as she swatted. The dense fabric seemed to matter little as his intent stare slashing through each layer. Yvette's chest rose under his appraisal, and Calvin's eyes lit at the rising. She blamed her breaths, trudging heavily from her mouth even as she bit on her lip to suppress it.

Candie's gaze drifted to her face. His stare was hot and Yvette was torn, allured by the fire but afraid of the burn. Then he moved closer.

"You got some on your lips, too," Monsieur Candie said. He shifted, his body sealing the space between them. "I can help you with that."

Yvette's emotions were a wad of web, knotted up in impossible tangles. Calvin's hand latched to her waist and her arms dropped to her sides, heavy and helpless like underwater. Fingers twitched, ached at the very tips. But to do what?

His face approached hers, close enough to see the black dilation in his eyes swallowing the blue.

"Mouth of darkness," Calvin said, inches from her lips, his syrup-sweetened breath fanning her face. All the hairs on Yvette's body stood at attention. She didn't know what he meant, highly distracted from his mouth moving to clear those remaining inches.

Thoughts flashed like last words before drowning.

Yes. No. Wrong. Right.

There was a noise –a grunt, maybe a growl. Like the sound a dog makes in his sleep, kicking out his restless legs from a dream, or nightmare. Yvette moved back, her held breath releasing.

But Calvin wasn't ready to let go. His fingers left the waist to the chin, dragging Yvette's face back to him.

"I said I'd help you," His voice eased over her like a sedative. Tranquilized by the heat of his breath brushing her lips, her eyes slid close.

Wrong. Right. No. Yes.

Yet again, a growling grunt–that dog was definitely having a nightmare.

It was Calvin who paused this time, his eyes set on Yvette's mouth but ears listening.

Yvette could sense a heated stare, like a seizing claw around her body. Someone was in the room, watching them, and they didn't like the show. But who would? It wasn't normal, a white master so eager to kiss his black slave. Then again, Calvin was nothing normal.

The someone had a quiet presence, one Yvette must've disregarded among Calvin's dress-tearing eyes and approaching lips.

A figure jerked from the shadows, steps hammering the floor. Yvette tried to see but couldn't get a clear look with Calvin holding her face. Her knees bounced a little, panic and curiosity swirling into one. Whoever was coming moved precariously, their movements slashing the shadows like a jagged knife.

It was still too dark to see who was coming, but she knew it wasn't Stephen.

The head slave wasn't quiet. He'd charge in like a warthog, huffing and squealing.

Sheba? No, the approaching form was cut too straight. Plus, Calvin wasn't thrusting Yvette away, wasn't hiding anything. After the way Sheba hollered at the Cleopatra Club, Yvette would think Calvin wouldn't want his ears popped again.

The figure passed under a candleholder on the wall, shadows dragging off his silhouette.

Him as in Billy Crash.

Yvette's stomach fluttered, fireflies bumping around in her belly. But when she caught sight of his face, those flies flew back to their cage.

Nice Guy Billy didn't look so nice right now. Was it the shadows clutching his cheekbones? The narrowed eyes, slack mouth? He stopped real close to them. When his foot slid between her and Calvin, Calvin looked down, back to Yvette's mouth, then finally to Crash.

"I thought you'd taken off." His voice was blank, and Yvette felt the small tremor in Calvin's hold.

"Forgot my hat," Billy said. He stared at the hands locked on Yvette's face, then added, "You in the way."

Yvette looked over Calvin's shoulder. An angel statue in a cowboy hat hovered beyond him. Yvette bit on a smile.

"My apologies, Ole Bill," Calvin said. "I'mma move for ya."

Calvin unclamped his fingers from Yvette's face. She felt unsteady from the sudden loss and firmed her toes in her heels to avoid stumbling. Calvin stepped aside and Billy shouldered behind him, plucking the wide-brimmed hat off the angel. Still at the back of him, he expelled a deep breath.

Minute emotions twitched under his skin. Then his gaze snapped on hers, a deep golden olive. She never noticed the color before, but then, she'd never seen his eyes so incensed.

Then his lips moved, words muttered on soundless breath.

_"Mine."_

Yvette leaned back, her brows dipping inward. No. He hadn't just said that. She should stick to written words, for Billy Crash surely did not say... but he had, hadn't he? It was in his eyes, the tight set in his gaze, and something loose in them too. Primal.

_Mine._

The word pushed at her chest, trying to unravel her fabric. She breathed out, a hand touching her chest, and her mouth feeling too wet, too dry.

This went against all logic.

For one, it wasn't sound logic. Calvin Candie already owned her, a fact she wasn't proud of. But surely Billy wasn't talking goods and assets. From how upset he'd gotten when she'd called him master, ownership couldn't be what he was going for, saying that.

That left another option, one he was steady confirming. How disturbed he seemed last night, muttering about Calvin kissing her. And just moments before, stomping over before Calvin could make two kisses three. Billy meant mine as in…not Monsieur Candie's to kiss. Then if not Calvin's, Billy's?

The fireflies in her belly went crazy, flittering about and leaving trails of lightening. She felt her chin lifting the slightest, upward, as if to nod, to attest…

_Yvette Belisle, are you ill, drunk, or stupid? _

What the heck was she doing? It was too much, too soon. Those four syllables flung open doors she had no business stepping through, given the circumstances.

Calvin's gaze was two lateral squints, a dark brow cocked above his eye. Yvette broke eye contact with Billy, taking in a slow breath with difficulty.

"There." Billy fixed his hat as he moved around Calvin. "So, uh. You tell the girl what her job gonna be?"

His transition was quick, and Calvin only paused for a beat before he replied.

"Why, no I had not. Thanks for reminding me, Crash."

His lips twitched, but his eyes were in distant places.

Yvette was afraid, knowing something was ticking in that working brain of his. Had he heard Billy's utters, seen the nod Yvette almost gave in compliance? She didn't know who to blame. Billy for opening the door or herself for nearly stumbling through it.

Either way, it was time to back away. That, or face the danger her brain had warned her about earlier.

She bent into a curtsy, hoping to draw Calvin from whatever far lands his thoughts were taking him.

"I would love to know how I'll be serving you, Monsieur." She'd inserted enough sweet in her tone to give a normal man a toothache. But she was getting to know Calvin, and knew the man had a high tolerance for sugar.

His eyes shifted back to her, and she felt her chest give in relief. Judging from his spreading smile, his cheeks rounded like apples, she's brought him back.

"I'm sure you would like to serve me, girl," he said. His arms swept open. "Who doesn't want work at Candieland?"

He chattered away, explaining the layout of Yvette's upcoming days. They'd try her in the kitchens, doing the cleaning, a little tryout at the Cleopatra club, and maybe some shopping trips to town. Billy stood by as Calvin went on. He didn't look at Yvette, but he didn't have to. She could sense his sharp awareness to her. How when she shifted or stepped over a little, he mirrored the movement.

"So that's it. We clear?" Calvin asked.

"Yes, Monsieur," Yvette said, curtseying again. She thought her knees might crack from all the bending. "You made it very clear to me."

That was no bluff. One day here and another there. No official place just yet. She grimaced. A set job, something to expect every day and feel secure in. That was what she really wanted. Candieland was full of irregularities, and she needed something firm to hold in such a circus.

Calvin placed a hand on Yvette's shoulder. He gave it a pat.

"I know you gonna do fine, girl. I got some hope in you."

He must've caught her worried expression. She amended it with an awkward smile, one he returned.

His pat turned into a rub, rolling across the base of her shoulders and down the sides of her arm. She locked up, but the sensual rubbing didn't stop, and soon her shoulders sagged under his heavy stroking. A sigh threatened to pop out.

What could she do? The soft kneads of his hand felt… nice. She'd been thrown around so much in the past months, it was practically a massage. But Billy might not like it. Though he hardly had a say in what Calvin did to her. Heck, she really didn't.

"I think we was in the middle of something," Monsieur Candie said, shrugging a shoulder back at where the Billy stood. "Before the interruption."

"We were?" Yvette said, a nervous etch in her voice. She gulped. Afraid to look at Billy, she kept her eyes on Calvin.

Calvin chuckled.

"Don't tell me I'm that forgettable."

That hand stroking her shoulder felt really good. God, no. He wasn't forgettable. And it scared her. That and the figure standing by in the room.

Billy didn't move, not an inch, but he didn't have to. From the way his eyes were fixed on Calvin he might as well have been clubbing the male in the jaw. His gold olive eyes were livid, flaring with heat.

Yvette had a strong awareness to her heartbeat.

"I'm taking your silence as a yes," Calvin said. "So let me remind you."

Yvette yelped as he swung her, dipping her toward the floor. Panicked, she'd grasped the nearest steady thing in sight; Calvin. As her nails sank into his shoulders and he looked energized, eyes darting across her face.

"You remember me now?" He asked.

Her head felt light from the tilted position, her vision filled with Calvin's face. The laugh lines at his eyes were playful, his smile wide and feline, a cat with the mouse's tail in his claw.

She just hoped he wouldn't swallow her.

"I- yes," she said, breathy.

He laughed shortly.

"Good."

Yvette pressed up, hoping to be propelled vertical. Calvin wasn't done playing, though. He met her press so that her pelvic bone was flush against his, her legs slipped between his own.

Who was this man? Insulting her one moment, and swinging her around the next. Adrenaline rushed, Calvin's body against hers hot. One of Calvin's hands wrung into the fabric of her dress, bunched. A hiccup bubbled from her throat. Excitement, nerves.

But among the lightness she heard the heavy steps, approaching.

She could hardly catch her breath, her head light and airy. Then it wasn't Calvin's face in her vision but Billy's. She expected the same look from before, a clubbing glare, but instead he looked composed. Unmoved, even.

"Hey," he said, tapping Candie on the shoulder. "I got a question."

The amusement on Calvin's face melted away. His eyebrow twitched above his eye and he shook his shoulder as if to throw Billy's hand away.

"Ask it later."

Billy smiled. A chilling smile that sent Yvette's pressing a little harder against Calvin's staying arms. Billy was mentally doing very dreadful, painful things to Calvin Candie. That is, if she was reading the gritted set of his smiling teeth right, a grin nudging close to a sneer. Billy was scary when he wasn't happy.

He asked, "How's Sheba?"

Clunk. Ache zipped through Yvette's back as Calvin dropped her flat. Good thing she'd already been low, or else that thump wouldn't felt much more painful.

Yvette lifted her neck from the floorboards.

"Ouch."

She was sure she deserved this. She'd come to Candieland set on keeping her neck down. But no, she just had to catch not just her Master's flickering gaze, but his work hand's steady one.

In what lifetime was this smart to do? Not in 1858, and likely never.

Billy had twitched when she dropped, his body pulling forward and a hand out as if to stop it, but he'd paused before making such a move. Calvin touched his neck, glancing at his empty arms then to the girl on the floor.

"Oops-a-daisy." he said. Then, like a second thought, reached a hand down.

Yvette debated swatting his hand away.

She originally thought her job would be to lie on her back. Well, there she was. Still, the floorboard was less comfortable than a bed and her back stung. So she took the hand and let him draw to her feet.

"That was meant to be a dip, not a drop." Calvin said. Then he turned with focus on Billy, his eyes narrowed. "And Sheba's just fine, Crash. That solve your concerns?"

Billy shrugged. He traced a wide half moon around where Yvette and Calvin stood. Calvin's still had his hand in Yvette's, soft and warm in hers. She tugged a little to free it, but Calvin's hold only tightened as he followed the pacing man with his eyes.

"She looked real upset after breakfast, is all. Was just wondering why that might be."

Calvin's eyes flashed back to Yvette.

_Don't look at me,_ she wanted to say.

"Sheba's an emotional woman. She has her ups and downs, but she can handle it."

His hand loosened from Yvette's and she immediately clasped them. Hands were getting her in all sorts of trouble lately.

Billy gave that shrug again.

"Hey, I'm no expert in women—"

"She fine," Calvin insisted. Billy's walk had brought him side by side to Calvin, and he paused there. Billy's lips rolled up, a smile on his lips.

"Like I said, I'm no expert in women. So I'll have to believe you, as ya seem to know them all so well."

Yvette stepped back, quiet as she could in her heels.

She didn't want to stand near them right then. Not with Calvin's face reddening like it was, lips flat and twitching. Not with Billy making all these short, little stabs.

"So how's your daddy?" Calvin asked.

And it was his turn to smile as Billy's jaw sagged. He stood there tighter than a bottle of soda water, ready to burst.

"Super," he said. The forced pep wrenched into his tone was as bad as the earlier fake grin; more snarl than smile.

Calvin touched his chin, combing his mustached lip with a finger.

"You aint been home in a while. Hadn't Will come down with something?"

Billy's hands clenched, folding into the legs of his jeans.

"Yea, but it was just a summer cough. I'm sure it went away."

Calvin chuckled, an arm flinched towards the window.

"And it's still summer!" He said, and at that he pushed right past him, stomping over towards a window that bordered the door. When he thrust open the curtains, sunlight flung through the room.

"Look at how bright that morning sun is. Summer, summer, summer."

Calvin made his way towards the next window, yanking back those curtains too. From the sudden burst of energy, Yvette guessed he was already on another path. Perhaps to thread over the one Billy had started up in his questions about Sheba.

Billy's back was to him, but he watched Calvin over his shoulders, eyes narrowed. He looked to settle on something, nodding his head before he turned his attention back ahead.

Back to Yvette.

_Close those curtains,_ she wanted to say. _I need to hide back in these shadows._

But there was no hiding from Billy, his steps slicing forward.

She fidgeted as he approached, unable couldn't read him this time and not knowing what to expect from the man that seemed to snap from one mood to the next in the short time. At least he wasn't like Calvin, who bounced from sentiments on a much broader scale. Billy's spectrum was less detailed.

So far she'd seen Nice Billy, Plotting Billy, and Scary Billy.

She was hoping it was the Nice Guy who'd just stopped in front of her.

"Bonjour," _Some_ Guy Billy said, speaking French.

Yvette curtsied, eyes skirting over the floor.

"Comment ça va?" He said. So he was sticking with French. If he was trying to be private, that was the way to do it. "Bien," she said, eyes narrowed.

Billy gave a curt nod, scratching the back of his head.

"So…"

"Oui?"

Billy chuckled, gaze dropping to his boots.

He was kicking around something. She wished he'd spit it out, for she had something to say too. Like what the heck does he think he's doing? Throwing Yvette in the middle of his pestering. There was also the part that wanted to know if this was really about her. If he really was…interested.

Billy looked back up, fingers nudging his pocket edges.

"You falling in love?" Billy asked in French, though his voice was lower.

Yvette's heart skipped.

"With who?"

Billy gave a snort.

"Who you think?" He asked, jerking an elbow toward Calvin, still throwing open curtains and shutters.

"Non," she said, shaking out her twitchy fingers. "I'm not in love."

Billy was in the habit of snorting.

"Well, you coulda fooled me."

Everything she was feeling right now was _not _okay, with a capital N.O. Like the silly thrill at his obvious distaste for her interactions with Calvin. She'd never seen a man act this way, except in the books she'd read back in the Belisle manner.

Yvette crossed her arms, brows set.

"D'accord…" she started. "How so?"

"Every time I see you, he's kissing on you."

She gave Billy her neck as she looked over at Calvin. He was stretched on his toes, trying to reach a higher set window to let in more light, but couldn't reach it.

When she turned back around, the look Billy had given her earlier was back. The livid bright eyes, gloom and silent fuming. Boy, he was intense.

"He didn't kiss me." She embossed the words with enough force to obliterate doubt.

"Just about."

_Hm. Didn't work._

"I'm not sure what you saw, lurking in the dark, but he didn't kiss me." _This_ time.

Billy's lips twitched, looking amused at her words.

"I wasn't lurking," he said.

"What else do you call standing in the dark, grumbling from the corner?"

"That's beside the point." Billy said, humor gone. "I'm only wondering how you felt, swing dancing all about the place."

She didn't like that look or that tone. So he was blaming her for Calvin's actions. The room was getting brighter as Calvin pulled open the curtains, but wasn't Billy's eyes adjusted yet?

Calvin took what he wanted. Did what he wanted. And if that was Yvette, even for the moment, who was she to shove him away?

"You're acting like a sullen baby," she said, her lips twitched on a smile. "May I wager as to why?"

Here it was. She was pinning him down on this, going to force him to admit it. He'd already half whispered it before, but she needed to hear it again. Voiced.

Billy turned away from her, glancing at Calvin. The man's back was still turned, and Billy moved fast. The very air thickened as he wrapped a hand around Yvette's collar. Not with force, and surprisingly gentle for how quickly he'd moved.

"Because…" His hand swept across her clothed neck, down to her collarbone. The cotton was thinner there, and she felt the coarse pads of his fingers against her skin. "He always go after what I want."

Nerves caught in her throat, but she spoke through it.

"Me, you mean."

_Tha-dump_. _Tha-dump._

Billy's lips pulled to the side.

"Yep."

She'd made him say it, asked him to say it, but…

Her face was flooding with warmth, moving down her neck and spotting her whole body. For the first time, he looked relaxed, his muscle losing their tension. But his stare…how it held her…

She looked away.

Billy's hand moved from her collarbone and up to her chin, catching it, raising it.

Her heart fluttered. She, the girl with the airy head, who'd always dreamed of someone who'd act this way to her. She, the slave who knew she could never have it. Her eyes pulled back, back on him, and she swallowed. Was he serious? Was any of it real? Yvette's teeth sunk into her bottom lip. The pressure of the prick told her yes, it was real.

Billy traced his own lips with his tongue, his eyes fixed on her mouth like it was a hearty snack.

She couldn't breathe.

"You really do got crumbs on your lips," Billy muttered, speaking English now. "But it's _me_ who's gonna—"

"Where's that damn ladder!" Calvin barked, sweeping around from the window.

Yvette shuddered away, just as Billy's fingers let go.

"Stephen, where you niggers keep my ladder?"

Calvin clapped forward, daylight from all the open windows against his back. He didn't look at his work hand and slave, not until the very last moment as he passed the staircase. His eyes were dark slits, but he didn't say a thing. Not about how close Yvette and Billy were standing, not on what he may or may not might have just witnessed. He simply tipped his head at Billy, smiled, and slipped into the jointed room.

His silence scared her more than words could.

Something moved beneath Billy's jaw as he watched Calvin go. It shifted and firmed, setting hard like concrete.

"I've got to go work," He finally said, Billy's eyes focused inward. She knew he'd decided on something, but she couldn't read a thought off of him.

"Okay," Yvette said. Chest dipping with disappointment. He wasn't making eye contact. Purposelessly it seemed, from how he stared at the walls, the pictures, everything but at her.

He was giving her nothing. What a sharp change. She huffed a little, feeling a pang. Well, he could be that way all he wanted.

"A toute à l'heure," She said, her curtsy quick and tight. She breezed around, turning away.

"Hey."

His hand caught hers before she got very far.

Yvette waited, heart beating, uneasy. It was hard to know what he'd do, what he was thinking. She looked back at Billy and he just looked at her silently, his lips pressed tight. Just when she thought he'd break through the concrete in his jaw, to continue what he'd started the moment he said mine...

"Adieu," said Billy Crash. He let his hand fall from hers, and he turned away.

The bright morning ate his form as he opened the door, pulling through and smacking it shut. Yvette watched the door as she had the other night, when Billy had swept out of her cabin. But this time the slam hurt.

She had said see you later but he had said goodbye.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

Ah, finally. I know it's been a bit, but yada yade schoolwork and characters misbehaving, or behaving, depends on how you look at it. But I hope everyone enjoyed. As usual I was nervous about this chapter.

So if you think I'm on a good track, I'd love to hear it. It makes my day hearing what people have to say *tear*.

I know everyone is pretty busy though so only if you have the time, I'd love to know what's on your mind or what you're expecting (so I can at least think to myself hehe they have no idea or, alternatively, you're getting warmer...). Haha.

See you next time!

_~Yellowspotlight89_


	12. A Little Troublemaker

Chapter 12:

A Little Troublemaker

* * *

_**You looked my way and said "you frustrate me." Like you're thinking of lines and times when you and I were you and me.**_

As clawing heat dragged against her neck, Yvette wondered how she might escape this carriage. It was a task of unclamping a latch, releasing a small block of steps. A matter of running, maybe hiding, tucking under one of the many rooms inside the Candie manor. But what good would that do, except get her dragged back to the crimson seats inside rabbit trap walls?

When Calvin Candie wanted you, he wanted you. This meant untying your apron and dropping the dust-coated rag. It meant shaking free of your clunky house heels for soft-footed slippers. It also meant peeling away the stiff fabric of your working dress, bathing until rosy splotches marred your skin, and shifting on a skirt so light it was naked air to your hips.

_There, all town-pretty now_, Cora had said, patting Yvette's behind as she nudged her out the front door. She resented that: the comment and the smack. Town-pretty meant nothing when you had no armor. And geez, that woman had a hard hand.

The umbrella handle felt spongy against Yvette's palm. She shifted it between her fingers, flexed them. Tugging at her blouse to let heat escape, Yvette felt tempted to pop open the umbrella. But the umbrella was for shielding Calvin from the rays, not her, and so she was left to tug and shift, the pound of the sun against her body a thick and constant heartbeat.

As impatience bickered with nerves, Yvette poked a hedge with her umbrella tip. Traced a circle in the dirt. Poked the hedge again. Monsieur Candie was taking a lifetime to come out, probably laid out in the parlor, sipping sweet sweet tea and taking his sweet sweet time. Maybe he forgot all about having her do his shopping. If that was true, then that'd be sweet sweet relief. Just unlikely, since Yvette had gotten his message within the same afternoon.

The carriage faced out toward the yard and she twisted in her seat to hone a glare on the manor windows.

"Come on out, come on out," she bid Calvin Candie, from whichever room he might've been in.

The chant failed and so she plopped back around, arms crossed over her chest.

Calvin Candie had a close cousin in the common tortoise.

Seemed like a contradiction, the trapped prey urging the capturer to hurry along. But Yvette wished to get this over with –ride, town, and back- so she could slip back into her household duties, doing a lot of thinking and not-thinking.

She'd rather be washing garments, dusting rooms, _any _of the several tasks she'd submerged herself in over the past four days. The jobs kept her busy. Plus, it had the familiarly of the Belisle home.

Work wasn't much different at Candieland. Soapy water still chilled the hands as you dipped and dunked clothes. White rags still clouded gray when swiping up a grimy vanity. The only difference at Candieland was that there weren't any screeching kids to bound after when they hurtled toward the cornfields.

But this – the waiting around – it exposed Yvette at all ends. Not only physically, set down in the sea spread of grass, but in that delicate place inside.

When Yvette wasn't doing something, anything, the thoughts wiggled into the cracks in her shields. She could feel them now, sliding across her skin, wet and clammy as the dampness on her brow. She swiped her hairline with a knuckle, dropping hands to her lap. Routine was her armor, not chiffon silk.

That was the one thing she truly disliked when dismissed for the evening; scraping back to her cabin under the blue evening cover, there was little to do. When she wasn't reading one of the novels slipped from Calvin's collection, only thoughts kept her company. She'd considered staying inside among the rest but the idea was a hesitant one. Hope lead Yvette to stay in the cabin, the same hope that whispered _maybe tonight would be the night…_

But hope was wrong, for such a night never came. Four days, and not a peep from him. A visit. A word. A glance. She thought he'd made his intent clear Monday morning, with that one simple, unprocessed word that still rung in her head.

"_Mine." _

On the contrary; Billy Crash, true to his _adieu_, had stayed away.

He, who shielded her when the prowling lion paced the slave girl like fresh meat. He, who'd been given orders to hurt her, break her, but the only time laid down a finger was to drawn them into his own. He, who'd slid glances across the dining table, looking ready to push aside his hot rolls and lay her on a plate.

And him, yes, the same him, with the declared "hard-one."

Her focus past the gates ahead, Yvette's eyes grazed the sugarcane stocks, the slow moving shapes drifting among them. Coco had said Billy trained male slaves who fought at the club, but oversaw all work hands and outdoor activity.

_He's probably out there_, said one of those slimy thoughts, nuzzled against her ear.

Yvette's heart fluttered.

A nasty habit, the heart fluttering.

Her body betrayed her. She couldn't clutch to her irritation without it transcending into some sort of yield in her chest. At any given moment she wanted to hunt Billy down. Not only to yell at him, maybe clout him, but snatch him by the shoulders, rise on her toes and kiss him.

She'd tried to wane off the spell of drunken, unsated want Billy had left echoing in her chest. That's why she needed her busyness, the armor that kept out yearning thoughts that punctuated her days in sighs, restlessness.

Coco was no help. Knowing Billy hadn't punished Yvette, the candy-holding slave thought Yvette was the perfect ear to snatch and spill all her thoughts on him to. Of course, she never admitted it, but from the smiles that rounded her cheeks, the giggles behind the hand…Coco clearly had a crush.

And it strained Yvette's nerves like cheese against a grater.

Regardless, she tacked on a nod whenever Coco fluttered close in her flaring dress, gushing about something nice Billy might've once said or done on once upon a who-even-knew-for-sure?

Yvette turned her nose to the cloud-wrinkled sky, chin in hands.

Hmph. So often she'd wanted to jerk Coco by the bow and tell her to pick a different man to have a little _crèche _on. Billy was taken.

Yvette lowered her face as guilt swirled through her. What was she thinking? Coco had all the right to like him. _Yvette_ was the newcomer, after all. Plus, she had no hold on Billy.

Still, another voice argued against that reasoning. Noting that, well, if he wanted Coco, might've he acted by now?

_Instead, he'd been beelining toward you. Right from that first day…_

Yvette glared into her lap, arms around her chest.

_Oh, hush. Whatever buzzing or beelining he'd done before, he'd shaken that from his bones now._

Here she was, bristling, claws outstretched as to recapture the lost treat she'd never even tasted. It was best she stayed away from him- no use letting his bad habits rub off on her. She, for one, didn't approve of someone saying they wanted you to just mosey away, leaving doors ajar and feelings unfinished.

All of these emotions combined, her pinning, his leaving, had combined into some nerve-hoisting fantasies over the last few days.

It was like that for her; she as the sketcher of dreams but never their architect. Her mind muses rarely ended as terribly as hers recently had, though. Paranoia. Leftover shock. Everything in the past days had been so abrupt, going from auction site grime to Candieland chime.

And Yvette had yet to feel that stability, that sense of safety. She thought she'd found that stable rock in Nice Guy but then he did that impractical thing called leaving.

So the fear-laced dreams were completely his fault.

Yvette shivered to recall them, but recall she did.

She would be dozing in bed, moonlight spilled over her form, when she'd imagine him outside her door.

_Yvette_, he would say, voice mellow as it coiled through the glossy black night. At the sound of her name on his lips, her legs would tense against the sheets, breath quickening.

_Can I come in?_ He'd ask, and her nails would dip into her palms as she replied _s'il vous plait_…

Voices shunned Yvette out of the starts of the daylight reverie. She twisted in her seat as two shadows move behind the manor's curtained doorway. One crooked backed, one taller and straighter. She knew these shadows.

The voices mounted as they spoke, braying enough that some words slipped between the frames.

…_I want… He's… Yvette…something about it… _

Her eyes narrowed. Me? What about me? Suspicions budding within, she dragged herself higher in the seat, leaning so her back left the support of the carriage.

… _Mmm-hmmm just watch your… …I thought from beginnin'…_

…_Of course, Stephen… and I don't doubt …we'll see…_

After a few more broken sentences, the door burst open. Her gasp short, Yvette plunged back to the seat, facing front. In the shaky seconds, she found the need to whistle, twirl the umbrella in her hands, stared up at the back of the coachman's neck. When there was no one barking at her, she relaxed her whistle and slid her gaze backward.

Monsieur Candie stood by the doorway with Stephen hovering beside him. Tan breeches climbed up her master's legs, tucked into boots to the ankles and paired with a moss-colored jacket. Yvette's heart gave an involuntary stutter.

"Now you be nice while I'm gone, you nosy curmudgeon," Monsieur Candie said, knocking his fist against Stephen's gray tussles for hair.

"Yeah, yeah," Stephen grumbled, batting Calvin's fingers away. "Aint I always nice?"

Calvin laughed as he placed the edge of his unlit pipe near Stephen's face.

"No."

As his shoulders shook with the remnants of humor, earth and sun hair dropped over his face. With another thump on Stephen's head, he started toward the steps.

Stephen followed across the platform, but stopped at the edge. From there his milky eyes jerked up to the carriage. Yvette's shoulders unfolded at Stephen's digging look, but she didn't avert her gaze.

"You get back, you gonna do up that room you left unfinish', understand?"

Swallowing her nerves, Yvette squeezed on a smirk and said "Of course, Mr. Stephen," in a voice as sunshiny as her yolk yellow of her skirts.

Jaw shoved out like an iron block, Stephen let out a heave before twisting into the house, muttering about _smiling niggas_ and _tryna be cute_.

As she watched him go, her grin sloped into a grimace. That man didn't just have a chip on his shoulder, but a whole dent. It seemed he never got over her arriving on horseback with Billy. She'd tried to stay pleasant in his eye, never left a smear on a dish, but…

Calvin ambled across the sienna dirt where the carriage waited. At his approach, she and the coachman stood, as one did for kings and Francophile slave masters. When Calvin reached the side, he paused, resting his arm on its curved wall. He was so close that Yvette could draw out a finger and smooth the minute folding from his sleeve. Not that she would. Or was tempted.

"Hello, Caramel Pudding." He said, sending Yvette a glance. Soft crinkles feathered the edges of his eyes.

"Good afternoon, Monsieur Candie."

Setting down the umbrella, Yvette lowered herself into a curtsy, fingers pinching the edge of her skirt. Her lips twitched. Caramel pudding. From the appetites he'd shown, caramel pudding _would_ be a dessert for his tastes.

After knocking the dust from his boots against the carriage side, he waved his pipe-fingering hand toward the carriage door.

There was a pause which she stared at him with a lift in her eyebrows.

"You gonna invite me in?" he finally asked.

Yvette reached out to unlatch the door, arm jerky.

"Forgive the delay," she said, squishing down the slightest dash of indignation. It irritated her to guess his needs, but she'd try to keep up. Cora had said to "Wait on him." so Yvette inwardly nudged her mind awake, set on staying focused. Perhaps the caramel pudding comment had mushed up her thinking a little.

Calvin slipped into the carriage in silence, reloading the stairs and snapping the door behind him. Yvette slipped back into her seat.

"I do apologize for the wait," Calvin said, plopping into the cardinal-colored bench directly across from her. "You know Stephen by now. He can jaw off till the crows caw."

"I undeniably understand, Monsieur," She said, unable to hide her sigh.

Stephen had chewed her ear with so many orders over the days, she swore there were gnaw marks at her lobes. At least it'd kept her busy.

A twitch lifted the edge of Calvin's mouth.

"Undeniable, indeed," he said, looking at Yvette from hooded eyes.

Yvette's belly hollowed, concaved and sweaty. She'd forgotten his ability to fluster her with a look. While Billy had disappeared, Calvin was ever more around. Around but never near. His greetings were simpering but short, the stares lingering, but clipped. If serendipity brought the two in a space together, shadowy, echoing, alone…Sheba sniffed them out like a hound fresh blood. And upon arriving, she'd knot her wrist to Calvin's arm, staring down her nose at Yvette like the mucus on the other end.

Yvette's hollow belly began to solidify when Calvin looked away. She shook her head, freed from a spell, and dabbed at the sweat at her brow before flipping her braid to wrap around the shoulder.

"Through the plantation," said Calvin, chin tipped back at the coachman.

Yvette pressed back, eyes rounded.

Oh.

This part.

Sight became her only sense as the carriage hurdled forward. There was no heat at her neck, then. No silk to her skin. Just sugarcanes transcending from a foreground of grassy smears to an identifiable cluster of plants. Blonde stocked and green-tipped with splaying leaf heads.

They reached the yard's end and surmounted her cabin straight away, tucked behind tree and gate. She pinky-waved, as if to afford herself some comfort before delving into whatever unknowns awaited in the stocks.

It was then that Yvette allowed her other senses to work. Smelled the turned up soil and the woody sweet of the plants. Felt the grazing heat on her neck, cotton on her chest and silk at her hips. Saw how the sun sketched over Calvin's cheekbones but left his eyes and chin to shadow.

She turned her eyes down. That was enough sensory-use for the moment.

Yvette couldn't trust herself to see Mr. Nice Ghost, er, Guy. She might act too foolhardy. Become too eager before Candie and even Billy himself, who didn't _deserve_ to see her looking up at him like some forlorn kitten, licking her dejected paws.

A girl can't wait around with a bouquet of happy flowers when a man walks away from her. Slave or no, Yvette would cradle her dignity like the nestling it was.

So if he was out in these fields, she'd just stay low, low as she could within the walls of an open trap. She would not look toward those sugar fields, darn it, and all the people she felt and heard moving within.

Perched over, Yvette concentrated on the tan covering of Calvin's knees. Gee, what a pleasant sight. Much more interesting than the brown figures among the green, anyways, faces made vague by the carriage's speed. And certainly more intriguing than the work hands. Men who were mainly on horseback as they moved among the stocks. She heard them calling out their _howdy's _to Candie, who nodded or shouted back but mostly stayed silent, the unlit pipe curled between fingers.

With a deep breath, Yvette glimpsed up just enough to check their process through the fields. The sugarcanes still sprawled out, seemed endless as the carriage rumbled down the dirt crested between, leading towards flatter land and the outlying trees. Still plenty of dirt to travel before they even reached the end. Yvette sniffed a little. Couldn't they add an extra horse to this carriage?

Yvette's gaze, on their way back to Calvin's interesting kneecaps, paused when she noticed he'd set his pipe down. He had his chin inclined, a heel of the hand over the eyes, and the slightest of tugs at his lips.

"Slow her down," he said.

The sudden drop in speed jutted Yvette against the carriage; she clutched the seat.

"Slower," Calvin insisted, and soon the carriage crawled at a lazy pace across the sienna.

Yvette's fingers curled into the supple cushions.

_Why are you slowing why are you…_

Did he want to join the slaves, maybe pick some canes? Otherwise he shouldn't be stopping. No, he should keep going so they could go to town, get whatever things he wanted from the shops, and return to Candieland.

Yvette ground her features into a placid mask.

Down, heart, Down. This was okay, she told herself. The first step. Getting her heart rate to settle. But her traitorous body, like a whiny lonely kitten; it mewed a different command.

_Up, eyes, up. _

And just like that, she drew level in her seat, heart a stammering mess, and eyes up, up.

Her gaze riffled through the males on horseback. Pale and peach skinned faces, hats on heads, boots. But no Nice Guy's to see there.

Yvette exhaled through her nose as they passed on down a little ways further. She pretended the deep pitting in her chest was relief, not disappointment.

_Well, all clear so far. I'll be glad if he isn't even—_

"Ha-hey!" Calvin called over his shoulder. "How my 'dingos been doing Crash?"

Yvette's feet curled in her slippers.

Oh.

The sprawling feet away was nothing, for even with his back turned, Yvette recognized him on sight. He wandered through the stocks, further from the rest, straddling the horse she recognized as Sandman. A long form in the saddle, tan coat sweeping the space behind. Stiff shoulders hardened his posture.

Oh.

"Jus' fine," Billy said, beginning to turn on his steed. It was a gradual unveil; the edge of a rough-cheeked face, a hat swooping lopsided, sweat gleaming under a scarf-strung throat. "Ain't been no fights in a while. Not much to do yet but run em..."

His last words lingered, faded out. Billy paused, eyes on the carriage, its occupants. His gaze hit Calvin, loitering for not a moment before they swept to the other side. To Yvette.

One look. One look and the fireflies awoke. They buzzed in her ears, twitched in her stomach, dabbled bright yellow dots over her vision.

And stupid, eager, traitorous body; hitching her breath, parting her lips, inclining her body towards him.

There was an unfurling on Billy's face, like layers of stacked tension crumbling to the canes. He fisted his horse's reins as if to keep at balance before letting the forearms drop over the beast's ears.

The carriage's slow curl was drawing them past Billy, but her gaze stayed locked on him. Like that darn cat with its outstretched paw, she was unwilling to let go of what she'd lost but never tasted. Especially so soon, after such a brief time.

Billy looked just as unwilling as he turned on his horse, just the slightest, keeping her under his eyes as much as the shuffling carriage allowed.

Yvette flinched when Monsieur Candie's voice filled her ears.

"Getting too much sun, Crash?"

He was still looking at Yvette as he said "Yea…" licking his lips, touching his rough-cheeked face.

"Yea?" Calvin asked. His voice was like a thump against the forehead.

Billy dragged his eyes off of Yvette, rolled them back to his boss. Lifting his hat, he scratched his sideburns, straightened from his leaning.

"Uh, what you say?"

Calvin hand's snapped together, like firecrackers popping in Yvette's eardrums. Chuckles followed his claps before both died out as if on schedule.

"Definitely too much sun. Stay out of it for a while, will ya? See you later, now."

The carriage crawled on, leaving Billy and his eyes behind. The vehicle had pulled out far enough that Yvette could no longer see Billy without twisting, so she settled forward, teeth digging into her lower lip.

One look wasn't enough. Even if he hadn't shown up in the last few days, the man had not roamed too far from the door. Everything from Billy's leaning posture, the unblinking eye contact…

Him and her, they were quite unfinished. And their brief contact was flooding warmth through her form, her body tingling with thoughts of what she wished to do: snatch him by those stiff shoulders, rise on her toes... kiss him.

Calvin chirped out a tune, chin chucked toward the sky, and Yvette's mind plunged back to the carriage reality. She didn't face the sun, but her eyes were squinted on the man before her.

The slowing down, not speeding up…everything about it unsettled her. So Monsieur said what he needed to Billy, so why weren't they riding off again? Checking ahead, there were no more work hands beyond in the stocks…a couple slaves on the field edges, cabins, but no else for him to chatter with.

Apparently Calvin would rather bathe under the sun then rush to town. She'd heard people moved slowly in the South, but this wasn't the dawdling she had in mind.

As the carriage wheels continued its sluggish crack against fallen stocks and soil, Yvette tried to focus on the road ahead. She spotted where the stocks transformed to mere dirt, the slave lodgings scattered about it. But in their tortoise trek, it'd still be some minutes before they passed that sugar and soil divide.

"The sun's strong this afternoon," Calvin said.

Yvette broke her focus from the flat horizon.

"Yes. I could put out the umbrella." Grasping the curved neck, she began to lift and unravel the top until Calvin stopped her with a lifted finger.

"Not now."

Setting the umbrella down, she stared at her lap, brows furrowed. He said the sun was strong. Didn't that mean "let up the umbrella, negro?"

Yvette glanced up when he spoke again, voice loud, abrupt.

"Good thing you're wearing that skirt." He said, "It must feel real soft on your legs. Silky."

Yvette's heart stilled. When it set off again, it was in a series of skips.

"Um. Yeah."

"Eh?" Calvin said, tugging his earlobe.

Clearing her throat, Yvette heightened her voice. "I said yes, it's soft Monsieur."

"Soft and silky. Looks it." Calvin gaze paddled down her body, a touch of a smile on his beard-rimmed mouth. Her own mouth went dry.

"I just love fine material. The feel of her. Hmm," Monsieur Candie cupped his chin in two fingers, and when the blue of his eyes crystallized on hers, she felt frozen there. "May I?" He asked.

Despite the heat, a shiver rolled through Yvette's back, unfolding her in the seat.

"M-may you what, Monsieur?"

Calvin's hand dropped to her leg. He squeezed her knee before sliding the flattened palm higher up.

"Touch."

Yvette's breath went absent, heart a frantic flutter. She swallowed and swallowed again, hoping to regain some moisture.

"You… already are." Her voice bounced on the last word as the carriage edged over an uneven lump in the road.

She watched Monsieur Candie's eyes flash over her shoulder before settling back to hers. He smiled, wide.

"Well, while I'm here…" The hand slid even higher.

A harsh click of the tongue snapped at Yvette's ears. Rumbling followed that sound, then hooves, clotting the ground.

In seconds, Billy settled to their side in a cloud of dust. At the carriage's crawling pace, his horse's steps were tight, compressed. Yvette felt breathless as that burning gaze swept across her face then to her lap, where Calvin's hand roamed. When Billy's gaze slammed onto the Monsieur's face, the eyes were narrowed.

"…_hell is this…" _Yvette thought he'd said, and Calvin looked up.

"Oh, hey Billy," Calvin said, as if just noticing the shadow of horse and man hovered over the carriage. Calvin's hand rubbed along the downy thigh, shooting cold hot quivers through Yvette's bones. "You should really feel this silk. It's something I can just... swim in."

The tension she'd seen crumble from Billy's face minutes ago rebuilt itself. Billy glanced from Calvin's hand on her leg, back to her face, and his jaw shifted like he was grinding pebbles.

Yvette's leg jerked as Calvin's fingers hitched to where her drawers began at the hipbones. His fingers lifted, made a small _plat _as he plucked the edge from beneath her dress. Her heart pounded so hard it'd found a pulse in her ears.

Teeth tight, Billy's fists clinched into his horse's reins, and the beast snorted beneath him.

"Getchur ha—"

"Get my…what, Crash?" Calvin interrupted, continuing his leisurely plucking at Yvette's garments.

She could only breathe deep as the sweaty heat burned at her neck. She was sure the sun had increased by a couple hundred degrees.

Billy didn't say a word, though his eyes exclaimed. She saw the Adam's apple bob in his throat, but could hardly see right under her light-headed haze, filled with fluttery sensations as Calvin stroked right into her cold hot bones.

Still, she had enough focus to worry for Billy. Would he be rash? Say something he'd regret? Calvin had his eyes in a squint, waiting.

After a molasses long silence, Billy unclenched his hands from Sandman's reins.

"Get your…man to stop this carriage. My horse gonna snap his joints."

The driver glanced over his shoulder at Candie.

"Go ahead," Calvin said, his voice low as a lion's purr. The carriage began to pause and Sandman stalled beside it. Then Calvin curled a brow at Billy, gaze calm, lips twitching upward. "Now. Is somethin' wrong?

Billy looked to be taking heavy breaths.

"No."

"No?"

"No."

Calvin leaned forward, and the movement brought his legs parallel to Yvette's. The raw scrape of his clothed-legged against her fluid layers was a sensation she'd never experienced. The pulse in her throat felt heavy, as did her legs, trapped between Calvin's. With a breath meant to relax, she tried to calm herself and failed.

By now a stone statue had taken Billy's place on the horse. Except the eyes were all but stony, cutting across Yvette then back to Calvin and every movement he made. She was reminded of Monday, when he'd approached from the darkness with those two dark gold olives on the face. But if she'd thought they were incensed then…

That had to mean something, even if this were no happy reunion.

And she wanted to reach out and rub the tension from his coiled shoulders and – darn Calvin's stroking hand, mixing up her head! She could barely think beyond the textured scratch of his legs to hers, scrambling sense. That hand had stopped plucking at her undergarment, but the fingers settled where her hip bones and lower belly started.

"So there's nothing wrong," Calvin said, sliding the hand across the base of Yvette's thigh. "So what is it you want?"

The flat press of Billy's lips looked unable to produce human sounds.

"Billy," Calvin said. The sleepy drone in his voice contradicted the eyes, wide and dancing despite the sun shadowing most his face. "Why'd you stop my carriage if all you gonna do is stare like a dumb duck?"

Yvette tensed. The drowsy haze thinned out, clearing her mind. He was toying with him. With her. So much that Billy, one of the few who claimed he didn't condition himself for Monsieur Candie, was left strained and speechless.

Reason highly doubted Calvin's interest in chiffon fabrics.

She recalled what he'd said on Monday, murmured in private French.

_"He always go after what I want."_

What if…what he really does want…couldn't be said right now? Candie was a topsy-turvy man, one she couldn't quite piece together yet. Though watching him now, the skirting blue eyes following the work hand as if to watch him slip into the snare…she suddenly felt a little more compassion for why he'd stayed away.

Resolution strengthened Yvette's posture. Her muscles loosened, mind tingling with a new sense of purpose. From day one, Billy defied this leg-quivering force to help her. Despite the need to yell and maybe clot him for leaving abandoned doors wide open, she ought to give back. If she could.

And Billy obviously couldn't think of a viable excuse with Calvin strumming and stroking her like a stray bit of yarn. Uncurling her toes from the slippers, Yvette relaxed the leg that'd tightened under Calvin's fingers.

Poised. Controlled. Supple.

All the things she didn't feel.

With a quick breath, Yvette set her hand over Calvin's. Both men whipped their heads her way, but she only focused on Calvin's face, which eyes seemed to dart with a curious light.

"The petting stall is closed for the day," Yvette said. After a moment, she flinched her hand back.

There was a pause with nothing but their breaths, the sounds around her muffled as if someone had swathed a blanket over all the fields, slaves and work hands within. Her peripheral vision caught on Billy's stare but she couldn't focus as she became trapped under Calvin's.

The man tilted his head at Yvette.

"What was that you say to me?" Calvin said. He blinked at her, slow and careful.

Yvette's throat was a lump, though she spoke over it.

"I-I'd—"

"She aint say nothing important." Billy said.

He was completely forward in his saddle, body inclined toward the carriage. Rubbing the back of his neck, he released a skittish chuckle.

"Uh, what I meant to say before was…you'd asked about the 'dingos. So what of um? Got a fight coming up?"

Calvin's lips pursed.

"Ah yes," Candie gradually rolled his eyes off Yvette, turning them up to Billy. The hand against her thigh now felt more ominous than beseeching, even as it lay completely still. "Actually, Amerigo came to see me. Got a new nigga and wanna set him up against Big Fred. Now, I don't wanna waste my best's energy if this boy ain't as hot as Vessepi made him out to be. Tomorrow night he gon' bring him to the club."

"Uh-huh," Billy said, nodding so much he looked lost in the motion. "You want me to be there, then? Check him out, see who best he pair against?"

"That'd be most helpful," Calvin said. He grinned with all his teeth. Grime and gold.

He turned that smile to Yvette, giving Billy the side of his face.

"Now…" he said. The smile dropped.

Yvette forced her breathes to keep coming, knowing this wasn't a moment to be left without oxygen.

"I asked you what you'd said to me. Could you repeat it?"

It was like the sun was inside of her, writhing out her last hints of moisture. Her tongue darted to wet her lips, the tolling clock heavy on her brain.

She didn't think repeating herself would make him happy. But he'd commanded it, was waiting for it.

"Like Mr. Crash had said, it really wasn't–"

"I know what _Mr._ Crash said," Glancing back at Billy, Calvin's eyebrows gave a minute flinch. "I'm just wondering if that beating he gave your back was enough. Cuz for a second, seemed you was getting sharp-tongued with me."

"I wasn't. I just…"

"Didn't like me stroking your silk?" Calvin asked, his fingers fixed against her thigh. Her stomach tightened. He brought her no pain, only pressed on the leg.

Yvette curled a hand around her neck's base, where it seemed all her tension and heat had broiled.

It's just so hot today, Monsieur." Her voice stayed as even as possible, which wasn't very even at all.

A smirk quirked Calvin's lips.

"But I thought we established that skirt of yours was keeping you all nice and airy. But if that's the case…" Calvin lifted his hand from her thigh, letting it drop down with a hissing swat. Her breath hitched at the sting. "I'll take it off."

Billy swung his leg over Sandman in a flash of blue jeans, flapping jacket. His hand clutched a dark cylinder on his belt, a finger twitching over an object inside. His gun.

As scary as Calvin's hand on her thighs was, Billy's finger on that gun belt was even scarier.

But Calvin didn't even flinch. He just remained where he was, nails ironed into Yvette's skirted flesh. The coachman took curious glances backward as Billy stopped at the carriage's low wall. He set his eyes on Calvin, Calvin staring placidly back.

It was a long time coming, but Billy removed his hand from the belt.

"That," Billy reached inside the carriage and with a deliberate heave, pried Calvin's claw off of Yvette. He set it firmly to Calvin's own knee. "Was what's wrong."

At that release, Yvette's ankles slipped under the space beneath the seat, her heart seeming to tuck down there with them.

Nice Guy, Plotting, and Scary Billy had introduced another of their friends: Territorial Billy. Though Scary Billy definitely had to be his brother.

Her fingers piled on the stinging leg as she glanced between the two men, anxiety twitching through her limbs.

The men didn't speak, just stared at once another. Billy, with a wary set to his lips, hand above his gun belt, not touching it, but nearby. And Calvin, with a loose complacency, stretched back in his seat and chin raised toward the shadow hovering above him. Then Calvin did a chilling thing.

He laughed.

Lips curled back, his cheeks pinkened, stomach hoppling with chuckles. Yvette slid back in her seat, exchanging a glance with Billy.

He didn't look so enraged before, instead blinked a little, as if bewildered. She wanted to ask him so much right then. Starting with _why'd you stay away so long only to blurt out your supposed secret right to the man?_ She tried to communicate such with her eyes.

"_Later," _He mouthed.

She didn't know a simple word could send so many thrills through her nerve-endings. There wasn't time to pin on it, though, as Calvin's laughs faded out. Murmurs had begun to rise from the fields. Talk etching out from distant places, work hands and slaves getting curious, approaching.

Calvin knuckled away some spare tears. The hand Billy had manually placed to Calvin's knee curled like a spider flexing its legs.

"I had my suspicions, Ole Bill. Thanks for confirming," Calvin said. "But it really is a hot afternoon, and we should get going before Johnston's go on his second lunch break. Yvette, be a sweetheart and get this heat off my face."

"Yes, Monsieur," she muttered, reaching over for the umbrella. She drew it out and leaned forward to coat Calvin in its shadow.

"Thank you," He said. His finger still tapped the leg. He snipped out an order to the coachman. "Head on over to Main Town," he said.

The coachman culled the horse's reins as Billy dropped back a step. Yvette couldn't meet his eyes before they headed away, for he was too focused on the wheels tumbling across the dirt.

"Crash," Calvin called out from the rolling carriage. "Tomorrow. Cleopatra Club. We'll be seein' Amerigo's boy. 'Though there'll be much business to talk of before then."

At that the carriage yanked forward, going from breakneck to cut throat.

"And leisure," he added as he looked at Yvette, leaned over him with the umbrella.

And Yvette knew for certain chiffon silk was no armor.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

Shoutout to _Cinders and Brimstone_ for being generally awesome but also for helping me figure out how long this chapter should be. I almost kept on but turns out my regular length (this) was probably just fine. Thanks Cindersss!

Wow, I hope you all liked this. This one took more weeks/rewrites/agony than I thought but I felt it was worth it in the end. These characters don't give a damn about my outline. Anyways! You guys are all super fabulous and I'm glad to have you readers! Or else this would just be cooking lonesome in my head…and that's not as much fun, eh?

See ya next time,

~yellowspotlight89

**P.S. **This is still _very_ much a love triangle (polygon?). But that is all that is all...


	13. Dehydration

**Chapter 13:**

Dehydration

* * *

**_If I could write you a song to make you fall in love, I would already have you up under my arm. I used up all of my tricks; I hope that you like this. But you probably won't; you think you're cooler than me._**

As Calvin slipped between the crop circle of buildings, he noticed usual things were not as usual. Sure, those drab-dressed folks moseyed up and down the pavement as always. Necks stretched his way like needy nestlings. Street vendor hollers were nothing new either, voices hoisting up the carriage sides with boasts of coffee beans, long johns, same ole same ole.

What differed was that Calvin wasn't seated across a little nigger body he pulled from kitchens. It was a little body, alright, and of the Negro race, but this one was 100 percent female. And Calvin was 100 percent certain that this little-bodied Negro was about to unravel all the ordinary from his trip to Main Town.

Calvin set his gaze on the store fronts, the tree shadows spreading and retreating over bodies. Hell, he even eye-traced the dry cracks in the mud his carriage rumbled across. The girl, so close she practically rode his lap, was a pointed warmth much more agreeable than the mucky air. It's why he had to ignore it. That warmth, that body, that girl.

Little Miss Belisle. From the moment she sassed toward him at the Cleo Club, all sugary shy, she'd had his curiosity. But as time progressed and she let on to the spice in her sugar… she had his attention.

But Candie wasn't the only one reaching into candy bowls. Billy Crash, _the lil sneak_, was trying to get a hold on something sweet too.

Huh.

Calvin had given him the benefit of the doubt. Choose to believe that Billy gained some divine insight into the nigger state when he'd beaten that fresh-skinned girl, heard a scream originating from the jungles from where her kind came. But it became obvious rather early that Calvin's right hand had a little more than a scientific investment in Yvette.

Backtrack to his reluctance to beat her. The man made an act of kicking around, asking unnecessary questions and stalling. Add that with his clean appearance the next day. Shaven close, dressed nice as nice got with Billy, even smelling of soap. Calvin practically asked him upfront; why yo dusty ass so clean? And to that, received a little smile and a shrug. The smile of school boys hiding butterflies in their palms.

Next take breakfast. Yvette wasn't no runaway and yet Billy's eye tracked her down like a hound on the hunt. Then Monday morning in that foyer, Candie duly noted how Crash get a little sensitive whenever Calvin got near Yvette, even _looked_ at Yvette.

You crunch it all together with the display in the fields and you got a summation even Stonesipher's dogs could bark to; Billy was flying like a fastball in the court of nigger love.

Calvin knew it, and Billy musta knew that he knew it, 'cuz the sly son of a bitch tried slinking out of sight since then.

But no, no, no. Candie had spotted that little slug before it wiggled underground for the week. He even gave him time to just come out himself. Admit it. Wasn't like he'd get a beatin' for liking the girl. But when Crash refused to come out, Calvin got annoyed. Billy was a private man, but that didn't mean he could just slight him. So no longer trusting him to fess up, Calvin decided to drop a little rain to force the worm from its hole.

Armed with the girl in question, Calvin had taken off to the fields with a plan. Good that Cora got her dressed so cute. He wanted her tempting to the man with such loose feelings. A mouthwatering caramel ready to dangle by the wrapper.

'Cuz if a man was gonna act all hush-hush and tightfisted with _Calvin's_ candy, he oughta know just how tight that fist was.

And it only took one heavy hand on light skirts to make clear that Billy's fist was by no means in mild grip; he was definitely attempting to seize and detain something sweet. A violent attempt from how quick he latched onto that pistol to keep his choice in treat untouched.

Boy, did Calvin have a crow to pluck with Crash.

As the carriage groaned past the first crook of buildings, Calvin drew a fist on his cheek. Despite the umbrella shade, his face felt toasted under his knuckle. You had to travel slowly with all the walkers and talkers milling through the road. This was Calvin's opportunity to chat with folks or simply lie back and let them admire the expensive man in the expensive carriage. But today he struggled to focus on the voices calling out to him, the waving hands, all the attention he usually slurped up like soup. Just seemed to pale his interest when there was such an interesting something else sitting near to him.

And it was goddamn Crash's fault.

And her, too.

Yvette's cute, spicy sweet ass…

Before that afternoon, Calvin's interest in the girl had been perfectly in place. Slotted, a file to pull when it convinced him. But touching her to tease Billy had put a twitching urge in him that hadn't let up since.

Plus, he just didn't get her.

Calvin kept a sharp eye on his property. Like to know it inside out, up and down. And yet, Yvette showed no simple signs of what the hell went on within that pretty curly head. She got a little snappy in the fields like she was teamin up with Ole Bill against him, but he just couldn't tell what it meant; did she have a thing for Crash? Damn if it bothered Calvin… but if she did have a fondness on him, what the hell for? 'Cuz he guarded her from big bad Monsieur Candie?

Well big bad Monsieur Candie wasn't the one that busted her back them days ago. Sure, he mighta ordered it, but he hadn't done it. That was all Crash.

So nah. Billy was probably serenading to an empty window. That girl couldn't possibly like him…she knew who she belonged to and that was Calvin J. Candie. It was he who fitted the roof over her little head. He who provided the meals she slipped past her lips every day. Lips, Calvin noticed, which were currently reddened from the sun. It was he who bought the white blouse and silky skirt now fitted around her honeycomb skin. Clutchin' that huggable body so impossibly close…

_Ah, fuck._

Shifting in his seat, Calvin crossed his left leg over the right, but keeping down the lightening shivering through him was like detaining a hot coal in a cage of ice. Then somehow preventing those bars from melting.

But if Calvin J. Candie could do anything, and he could do so much so well, it was uphold a picture front. So stuffing a pipe between lips, he tipped his chin at familiar faces, let his arm tide through the air whenever someone called his name. Though whenever the corner of his eye caught on the girl, so close and so frustratingly tempting, ice made its way down his throat, pooling at the collar.

Yep, all her and Crash's fault.

Calvin noticed he'd taken to gnawing on the edge of his pipe and drew it from his lips. He'd brought it to occupy his mouth but didn't wanna chew it all up either. Hadn't even carried tobacco. That dream with Yvette blowing smoke in his eyes still made him hesitate to light up.

Damn, how she was affecting a man's choices.

And common sense.

And groin.

"Well, lookie there."

The carriage was at wait as a boy led a gaggle of geese across the road, and Calvin looked over at the speaker. It was a man he vaguely recognized, Mr. Hendrickson or somethin' or other. Slouched in the doorway of his gun supply shop, he scratched his shaggy beard with an empty ale bottle.

"If it ain't the fourth biggest planter in Miss'sippi."

"Third biggest planter, mind you," Calvin said, lips turned in a smirk. In recent weeks, Calvin had usurped Gentleman Gregory for that position, lest anyone forget.

The man slapped his bottle to his knee.

"Oh! Caught that from word to mouth and just forgot. My flaw."

Calvin tipped his pipe at the man, winked.

"It's an honest mistake." The goose boy finished his cross and Calvin's horse started up again. He nodded at the man.

"Alright then."

The man wagged his bottle.

"Be seeing ya, Calvin Candie."

The carriage shuffled on, moving like a sluggish bug between the concave of stores and bushy trees. They dragged closer and closer to town's center.

Calvin pressed a hand to his neck, face tilted toward the tawny buildings beyond Yvette's shoulder. But with Little Miss Belisle just under nose, it was hard not to keep the eyes falling lower, and lower…

Ah, hell. He had the lightening under control now. He could take a quick look.

Yvette had her focus toward her lap, the little chin pulling up into a small face he could easily fit in his palms. Her stretched arm kept the parasol over his head and the sun from his eyes. He couldn't deny she was good for holding onto that thing. Through every jerk she held fast, following the sway of the carriage so that the shade never left his body. Cora'd reported how diligent this girl was in her work back at the house. Kitchens, cleaning, she did any job assigned to her thoroughly.

_With that kind of committed hand, It's a wonder what other acts I could get her thorough in_…

Calvin grunted as lightening stirred beneath his breaches. He'd been doing good, keeping his ice intact. But hot thoughts like these was gonna melt away all his efforts.

Yvette's lashes twitched against her cheeks, catching his disgruntled look, and her brows lifted in passive challenge. She couldn't know his true "state", though seemed annoyed by his fact he was even breathing too hard for her. She'd been like that all trip. Giving him those mean little looks, answering his questions with a little tone in her voice.

Calvin's lip went stern. What'd Yvette have to be upset about? Testy 'cuz he got a little touchy-feely back in the fields? Well, that was laughable. The girl lived in her body, sure, but it was Master who owned it. He could touch her whenever he wanted, however he liked. No one would have to know…not Stephen, not Sheba and definitely not Mr. Sensitivity.

Sheba and Stephen could be frightening niggas, yes.

But they weren't niggas with guns, either.

Calvin hadn't been too concerned when Billy got to clutching that pistol. Okay, there'd been a _smidgen_ of concern, but shootin' Calvin would've been suicide. He liked to think the man was overzealous, not foolish.

Calvin's boys had already been looking their way, so if Billy had actually let that finger slip to the trigger, they'd gunned him down without a flinch. And by default, that'd be like Billy sacrificing his coughing daddy and the handful of niggas at that farm, all who relied on the livin' the son made at Candieland.

The carriage finally hunkered down in town's center and Calvin threw his eyelids over the active walkways and road. He liked to settle down here, to see from all around and be seen all around. Not that anyone had sand in their eyes this afternoon. Folks that passed by the carriage dropped from heavy treads to slow stalls, faces looking over. Wide eyes from white faces.

Calvin smirked then pinched his collar to loosen it from his neck. His clothes felt warmer for movement no longer blew air through his layers. But looking pristine in front of peasants was worth wearing wool, and even the layered jacket, with all its smooth lines and shape.

Still, maybe he should've taken a hint from Yvette, with her lucid little skirt. He'd said it to tease Billy, but meant when he inquired that it must be real aired out under there.

Calvin forcefully diverted his thoughts before their effects showed _up_ where they shouldn't.

"Hey," he said, turning an eye to Yvette.

Her chin crept up, and she flicked low-lidded glances all around.

"Yes, Monsieur?" she asked, fingers fixed around the umbrella. She squeezed it, pressing harder the more she looked about the town.

"You can put that down now," he said, recoiling from a previous fantasy of that "committed" hand. Calvin did not want to be the wood beneath those knuckles right then. Looked painful.

A tremble rode the edges of Yvette's fingers as she drew the parasol low, flattened it against the seat, then placed both hands on her lap. The fingers still quivered.

Calvin's features scrunched, but it was hardly from the sun now cutting across his face.

"Why you so nervous?"

When Yvette rounded her shoulders, hanging her chin again, Calvin was tempted to place a finger under it to see her face better. With effort, he reframed.

Yvette pulled in short breath, twiddling her jumpy thumbs. When her eyes lifted to meet Calvin's, his body locked up, head to boots. Damn it all. He hadn't gotten all used to that face yet. Long lashes blinked from large eyes, the thumb-tip nose twitchy like she was about to sneeze on the dust swirling around the carriage. She looked so pitifully at ill ease, almost begging for his arm to draw around her.

"Town and I haven't always…gotten on well," she said.

Calvin shifted closer to her.

"How so?"

Yvette slipped her wrist in a hand, rubbing it. But for all her soreness, Calvin was feeling an ache too. Her fidgety state disturbed him, especially when she'd been in such a tiff before.

Yvette kept to her rubbing and Calvin chewed on a log of patience. It soon whittled down, though, as she continued to ignore him. He tapped his booted foot.

"Hello? I said something to you."

Yvette's gaze rolled up.

"And I heard you," she murmured.

Calvin felt the deep scratch of his nails digging into wood.

_If this girl aint tiltin' her eyes at me… after I showed her concern! _

Yvette whole being alerted, conscious of what she'd done.

"Um. _Monsieur_," she added, scooting a little deeper in her seat.

With a forced effort, Calvin removed his nails from the armrests. She didn't know what she did, getting short with him. Couldn't know, for _he _hardly understood it. Was like feeding a lion, for one, and slipping your whole hand past the jaws to do it. Only nigger that talked that smart to Calvin was Stephen, with the occasional surly remark from Sheba, but it didn't get to him much.

Though with the things Yvette's coral lips slipped out like thoughts she hadn't meant to say; it bothered him for the simple fact that it got him rather … roused.

Yvette was watching him, her gaze skittering in a confused circle over his features, like checking for signs of disturbance. Well, that disturbance had burned out all his ice, now a puddle at his feet. Yvette's hand fell from her wrist to press around her ribcage, still looking unsure. The position pushed up her breasts and Calvin's nails sought the wood again.

Lust and irritation; strange emotions to mix, trickier to control.

How badly he wished to jerk her onto his lap right then. Slip a hand under her blouse as he tugged her neck down to take her lips. But for Christ's sake, they were in public. And Calvin Candie just didn't do that. He had poise, control, style.

He was not Billy Crash.

Still, the pulsing under wool breeches reminded Calvin that town was a bad, bad idea.

The puzzled look of Yvette's face dissolved into one of a curious cat. Her eyes narrowed, the arm around her ribcage tightening. Her tongue darted out to wet her lips and the thrill that motion sent through Calvin's groin shoulda been illegal.

Despite the shocks pulsing through him, he forcibly wrenched his hands off the carriage sides, pulled his chin toward the grocers beyond where a sign boasted of fresh eggs. Calvin liked eggs. Yes, eggs. Eggs were a good thing to think about.

But those fuckin lips! Gone from sight but not from mind.

It'd been almost a week since he'd kissed her. Two quick, wine tasting kisses. If Billy Crash hadn't interrupted him Monday, he mighta known what other flavors she offered. Sometime between his thoughts, Calvin's eye had wandered away from Diana's Grocer and back to Yvette… and just his luck; her tongue had darted out to wet those lips once more. Calvin thought his eye'd pop out of his socket from all the tension in his body. He needed her out of this carriage and fast. If the hot coal had burned down, at least give him some time to rebuild the ice.

"That's enough," Calvin said, brow twitching as he glared at her. He swept his jacket to fall over his lap.

Yvette swiped a sweat-wet curl behind her ear, fallen out of the braid draped over one shoulder.

"Enough? What am I doing?" She looked to moisten her lips again and Calvin groaned, pausing her mid-action.

"That."

Yvette pressed her lips together. Her brows caved in.

"I don't really understand…"

Looking around, Calvin noted townsfolk were glancing their way, probably wondering what Calvin was up to. He was usually talkin with them right now, not making chitchat with his shopping Negro.

"You're one lick away from me joining that tongue," Calvin said, eyes narrowing on the coral-colored buds. "Understand that?"

Yvette's face brightened under the warm skin, a ruby coloring that touched her nose, cheeks and throat.

"My mouth's dry," she said, speaking fast. "I wasn't trying to…I didn't think…"

"I didn't ask you to think," Calvin said. "I just want you to stop licking them damn lips."

Yvette shivered, and he liked that. He didn't know what had her so nervous before, but if he was the cause now, he'd take it. In any case, better than her shivering for Mr. Sensitive. Not that she would. Nah…

With a slow drop of her chin, Yvette looked down at her lap.

"Okay." The corner of her mouth twitched downward. "I'll try not to soothe my dry mouth since it disturbs you, Monsieur."

Calvin's eyes narrowed to that little lion-feeding kitty. Was she trying to be bold or did she just mean it as she said it? He couldn't tell, but either way he needed her far from him right now. All this talk of lips was giving him some inconvenient sentiments. He regained his focus by reaching into his pocket. Pulling out billfolds, he counted out the few dollars needed for the eggs and then some.

"Here."

Calvin dropped the money in Yvette's hand. She glanced over the stack, lips moving silently. Good. She could count. "I want you go to Diana Grocer, right behind ya. Get a dozen eggs plus a half."

She only paused for a moment before her hands curled over the money. She stuffed it deep into a slouchy pocket. Calvin picked up his useless pipe, pointing it beyond his shoulder.

"And just down in that corner, there's a place called Johnston General. No one really notice it, so they always got the most supply. And I want honey. You get that for me after you get them eggs."

Calvin nodded at the carriage driver, who'd climbed down of his post when the carriage stopped. The Negro bowed before opening the door. Yvette scooted over, but didn't leave the seat, instead stared down at the cracked earth beyond the open door.

"There?" she asked, twisting to point at the rust colored building among the other storefronts.

"Yes, there."

Yvette turned back around, pointed next at the store beyond Calvin's shoulder.

"And there?"

Calvin noted her finger angled at the building lapped in shadow at the corner.

"Yea." He pointed his boot toward the door. "Now move."

She didn't.

"Go'on."

Yvette swallowed.

"I have to go these places…alone?"

Calvin smacked his knee.

"Yea, girl!" What was this game? She couldn't be that scared. Well, she had mentioned her and town not getting along. Calvin didn't know much about her time in Philadelphia. Well. Didn't matter. She was in his town now.

Yvette's hands had somehow found the umbrella again and she wrenched it through his hands like a wet towel.

Instead of letting her break it, Calvin slid it from under her hands, replacing it with his own hand instead. As their fingers met, Yvette pulled in a breath. No one passing could see his hands, for the driver's body was in a place that blocked it.

"No one gonna hurt you," Calvin said, voice low for her ears. "Ain't no one gonna touch what's mine."

She seemed to react to those words, her focus slipping somewhere. He tightened his hand on hers to bring her back.

"Understand?"

"Yes, Monsieur."

Calvin slipped his hand away.

Curious folks' walks along the pavement had slowed, eyes pinned on them. Like a low-clinging fog, the hushed talk swished around the area, townspeople muttering, whispering.

_Shit._

With a quick breath, Calvin called for the ice. He couldn't be actin soft right now. He let his features get frigid, hardening his lips, adding chill to his eyes. When he looked down at her, Yvette pushed straighter in her seat.

"So leave," Calvin said, sweeping an arm toward the exit. "And don't come back till you got my eggs and my honey."

"Dozen and a half," Yvette said, voice unsteady. With another breath, she slipped out of the carriage, dropped onto the splintered ground, and headed off. The way she stepped was unsteady, arms tucked to the body and head whipping around her, looking like a lost kitten in the crowd of bodies.

Calvin sucked in the sultry air. He slapped the door shut, ignored his hyper pulse and refused to follow the girl. Even with his eyes.

* * *

Yvette hoped the notice she was reading didn't apply to Friday afternoons, but doubted it with high confidence. Standing in front of Johnston's General, the ban on its door was blue sky clear despite the shadows cutting across the paper.

**_NO DOGS._**

**_NO NIGGERS._**

Yvette wondered why Johnston bothered with the second line; he could've just left it at dogs and she would have gotten the point.

With a huff, she slid a step back to look around her. Further down, people slipped in and out of doors, bodies blurred and shadowy once they entered that divide between sun-brightened earth and tree obscured buildings. Drawing in a breath, the humidity greeting Yvette's throat reminded her that moist air didn't always mean refreshing. This part of the town seemed to suck up all the sun rays, compressing the heat into damp, nasty air.

But she had bigger problems than uncomfortable weather.

Of all the places Monsieur Candie could send her, why'd he have to pick the one that explicitly said stay out?

Going back was no option. Another explicit, banning thing; Candie's frost-glazed face when he told her not to come back unless she got what he wanted: eggs and honey.

Well, she had the former. A dozen and half eggs crowded among the basket in her hand. Yvette could hardly believe she'd even made it to the grocers and out. Her presence had raised eyebrows, made men and women fully turn from what they were doing.

In Philadelphia, though, she'd never gotten that far with just stares.

Back there, back then, she'd dreaded town as a kid dreaded bedtime. Except she was one of those kids with a very real monster waiting under her bed, bidding time before the bite…

"You have to get out sometime," Maria Belisle would say when she dragged Yvette out to town. "I'm not gonna let you stay on the farm all week. We're friends."

Only people didn't like the way Maria showed they were friends, crooking her arm around Yvette as if to assert they were equals. Ah, Maria. Wistfully willful but shortsighted; she meant well, Yvette knew. She just refused to see that her light complexion made her a woman while Yvette's deeper one crowded her on signs barring domestic animals.

But Calvin must have meant it when he'd said no one would hurt what was his. Because so far there was no spit dribbling down the neck, no abruptly-appearing ankles thrusting out to trip her, no _snooty nigga_ and _fancy bitch _smashing her dignity into the mud.

Yvette clutched the straw basket in her hands a little tighter.

Barred from the store, and barred from Calvin's carriage. She was trapped in open air.

Well, she'd just have to tell Calvin. Better to face the icy man opposed to whatever lay beyond that No Niggers sign. Yvette glanced over her shoulder, heart sinking. The carriage, several sprawling feet back, was surrounded. Men and women leaned against the sides, and even from the distance Yvette could see how they must tripped over each other, mouths and arms moving all at once. And Calvin now sat where she'd been sitting, at the center of it all, arms folded beyond his neck and eyelids dropped on the people in parts boredom and amusement.

His popularly wasn't shocking. She knew him well enough now, that he had a way of wrapping folks around his finger and keeping them wound up long before he let them go. Such as when he'd kissed her that first day, or when he'd touched her hand a short while ago. She still felt that touch like an echo on her palm.

And thinking of Calvin made her think of Billy. She'd used thoughts of Nice Guy to lead her to the grocers, pretended he was pacing beside her, shielding her from the outside world as he had several times before. Even as a fantasy, that had calmed the shake from her hands.

Silently thanking Billy for the help he unknowingly gave, Yvette focused back on Calvin. Right now she needed his attention and she stared him down, willing the man to look her way. He didn't. Too busy cheek-kissing and shoulder patting to give her a glance. With a grimace, she turned back toward the general store.

She wasn't going back to that carriage. Too many people. She could either stand out in the humid air or try her luck with the store. If Calvin was this likable, perhaps she merely needed to mention she was his slave. Wasn't like this whole town banned them. She'd seen at least three other slaves in the grocer. With masters, but still…

Yvette made the few steps to the store's entrance. The No Dogs and No Niggers sign hadn't miraculously changed to Yes Dogs and Yes Niggers, but she had run out of choices.

The store's darkened windows afforded no preview. She'd go in blind. Yvette took a breath, twisted the door handle and opened it.

The door gave a hearty chime.

"Welcome! Come on inside," a voice said. Yvette squinted into the gloom. It coated floor to walls, the strongest light that which the open door cut across the floor. The air felt cool, though. And with the humidity pressing her back, the better option seemed to go meet that coolness.

Yvette leapt as the door gave its final chime before slamming. Now pitched in the darkness, she noticed the smell. Her cabin had a damp scent, but this place took wet and moldy and compressed it. She filtered her breaths through her hand to pause the nauseous swirl whirling through her stomach.

"Baking powder came in Wednesday," that male voice that'd greeted her said from somewhere within the dim place. "Plus more oats, fresh cheese. Got a crate of them hair growth elixirs, too, if you so need."

Yvette stole her last filtered breath before removing her hand.

"No thank you," Yvette said. She could hear rummaging, suspected it came from the counter wrapping around the back end of the store where a man's body bent over, broad back turned. "I'm just here for honey."

"Just honey!" The man chuckled. "Try to your left, the racks hanging all 'long the wall there."

"Thank you," Yvette said.

"You are most welcome, Miss."

Yvette felt shocked. He sounded friendly. Then again, he probably couldn't see who _Miss_ was in the darkness.

As she moved to the left, a window deeper in lifted the deep gray room into a lighter smog tinting. She secured her egg-filled basket in one hand and used the other to keep her from barging into the crates, boxes, and barrels swallowing the humble space.

Finally reaching the rack, an exasperated sigh fell from Yvette's lips. So, so many bottles. Fat, skinny, cloth-stuffed, letter engraved, liquid-filled…

Yvette thumbed over the many jars, starting her search bottom to top. So many darn things and so little light. But wait. Under the dust-sprinkled gray she made out an _H _engrave in one of the jars. She pulled in closer, nearly bumping her nose against the glass to read it. When the words became clear, she nodded to herself. Yvette bent, reached for the jar with her free hand.

Voila. Honey.

The feat made a smile flit to her face but it died away moments after as a shadow hung over her, sliding down her body, leaving the feel of heavy oil on her skin.

"Find it?" The voice from before said, but much closer now. Heavy steps made its way near. They stopped behind her, so close she could feel the body filling in the crowded space.

"Yes, thank you," Yvette said, throat sticky. With a shaky hand, she clutched the thick jar a bit tighter. Its cool glass pressed into her palm.

"Uh. How much does it cost?" She looked only at the jar.

"Let's see it," the man said.

Yvette was still in her crouch. She held up the jar for him, didn't turn.

Steps thudded out as he moved closer. So close she was trapped between his ankles and the rack. The hairs at her neck lifted.

"And you, Miss. I wanna have a look at ya, too."

Yvette rose from her bend, but didn't turn. Her heartbeat felt jammed in her ears, made it difficult to think. With all the darkness, she wasn't sure if he knew she wasn't a _Miss_. Just a negro in a store she wasn't supposed to be in.

A faint twinge in her chest really wanted her Nice Guy right now. But she'd take the Ice Man, too. Calvin. Her head turned slightly to the window, but the windows were so caked in soot he'd never see through. Plus he was so far. Her knees felt weak.

The man's laugh dripped against Yvette's neck like a cold rain.

"I said," the man said, voice closer now. "Let me look at ya."

Yvette's breath was faint, her blood thrashing. She clutched the jar tighter.

"Alright, but…"

A squeak slipped from her mouth as a hand seized her shoulder. She flinched and the jar dropped. The basket followed with a crash.

... ... ... ...

"Was you out yo mind?" Calvin asked, for the tenth time, not that Yvette was counting.

The hard bounce against rocky ground constricted Yvette's stomach as the carriage burst down the open land, making a green brown blur of everything outside its walls. When she didn't answer him, also for the tenth time, he went on.

"Do you _have_ a mind?"

She clasped her hands. The tight hold she kept on her fingers burned. Almost as bad as the burn at her shoulder.

"Course you don't."

Yvette was getting real tired of these Mississippi white boys.

First they can't keep their pants on 'cuz you're licking your lips. Then they give you their cold shoulders and pretend you don't exist. Next they're rescuing you from other Mississippi white boys, valiant as they stomp over to him, blond hair flying around head as they wrench grubby fingers from where they pierce your flesh, eyes like blue fire when they draws you back against him. Then they flick money at the offending man's blubbering face before taking the honey jar you dropped, dragging you back to the carriage and whipping out of that place with a trail of fire in wake of the wheels.

But after they're done asking you alright, you alright? A trillion times, they are doubting your sanity.

_Yeah, real tired of Mississippi white boys._

Johnston wasn't as friendly as his greetings were. When he grabbed her, whirled her, he wouldn't let go, demanded to know what the hell a nigga was doing in his store. She tried to explain Monsieur Candie sent her, but he called her a lie; said Calvin never brought no nigger bitch inside, just boys.

Knowing convincing wouldn't work on the fingers digging so deep through her skin, she tried to just buy the darn honey, whose jar hadn't cracked unlike the eggs. That got him all mad, too, noting all the yolk spilled on his floor. And he got more forceful then, shoved her against the racks, pinned her in place with his nails, and that's when Monsieur Candie busted in.

"That all he did? Just get his nails in you?"

"Yes," Yvette said between terse lips. Another question he'd asked too much. Six times now, if she was counting.

She didn't want to talk about it and wished he'd just hush already. She wanted to enjoy this jerky ride back to Candieland without a messy mind. Calvin's pestering just kept her wound up, though. At least she'd got her trembling down. She never wanted to go back to town again. Better yet, why even leave Candieland? Or her cabin?

Calvin's rich exhale pulled her gaze from the blurring world and back of him. He had something of a snarl on his lips as he glared into the sun, low on the horizon. He raised his pipe then glared at that too, cursing as he tossed it to the floor.

Yvette chewed the inside of her cheek. She didn't understand why he was so upset. If anything, she should be the one throwing things. Preferably at him. He wanted his darn honey, right? Well he got it. And a good wash would get the yolk off.

Yvette moved a hand to touch her shoulder, throbbing now, but she hardly got near it before wincing from the sting.

"Don't touch it," Calvin snapped, leaning over her from his seat.

The throb seemed to move to her forehead.

"Hard not to," Yvette said. She pulled back to place distance between their knees again. "It's irritating."

"Put some alcohol on 'er when you get back."

"Thanks, Doctor Candie," Yvette murmured without a thought. Her stomach pitched for a moment, but then her fear fell away, her frustration stronger.

So let Calvin discipline her for talking brusque; she'd take it. Two times was the charmer. Besides, with his soft hands and groomed nails, it probably wouldn't hurt badly at all. Better yet, he should set Billy to punish her. Certainly that'd pacify her, just as it had the first time, right?

Billy, one Mississippi boy she wasn't actually tired of.

Oh, his taking off had made her sore, but in line with other men's crimes she was willing to pardon him. She didn't think Billy could ever hit her. Or imply she was insane, or give her a throbbing headache above the eye. Only Monsieur Candie had such powers.

The blurring forests and landmarks around her took on a familiar look, and Yvette softened in her seat.

_Later,_ Billy had promised, and later was approaching now. And she couldn't wait to get free of Calvin. The more time she spent with him the more she panged to see Billy.

"I don't get it," Calvin said at last. Yvette looked over, almost forgot he was there. Then she remembered she'd mockingly called him doctor and her muscles tensed.

He, however, looked perfectly content. His head propped back against his seat as he dropped his lids on her face. She forced out an even breath, didn't trust her voice to be steady. Maybe she _was_ losing her sanity. Talking back to her master just wasn't the act of someone with all cards in the deck.

"I saved your ass," Calvin started. "And yet you giving me lip. Rather I let that man scratch you up? Do more than scratch you up?"

Yvette's toes curled in her flat shoes. That's what Candie didn't get. The whole incident was his fault in the first place.

"Negros weren't allowed," Yvette said, giving Calvin a steady look. "So why'd you send me in?"

He shrugged, no remorse.

"Cuz Johnston make an exception for me. He knows the store's aroma's too much for my sensitive sense." Calvin pulled forward, elbows to knees, and then gave Yvette his own hard look. "Why didn't you tell him you was my nigga?"

Mocking Calvin, she pulled forward too, elbows to knee.

"I did. And he said I was a liar, that you only brought a boy in there. I suppose no one informed him that today wasn't the case."

"Well, yea. But I..."

Calvin's voice faded off, mouth still perched in the retort. His gaze darted to the side and he blew out a breath.

Yvette crossed her arms. Hmph.

_See. You know I'm right and you're wrong._

They went a long way in silence, Calvin looking out the side of the carriage and Yvette straight ahead at the plantation rising with their approach.

"Give her a break," Calvin said after a while, and the coachman nodded. Soon the horse slowed from its trot, pulling the carriage in an easy draw. The silence brewed between Yvette and Calvin, until finally he broke it.

"I shoulda," he said.

Yvette drew her focus from the approaching Candieland down to Calvin. A twitch hit her lips, pride in her chest.

"Should have what?" she asked, already knew what he meant. She wished to hear him admit he wasn't right. The unpleasant incident at Johnston's was due to Candie's mistake, not hers.

Calvin drew his fists to his knees.

"You know what. Shoulda gave Johnston a heads up," Calvin's cheeks speckled red as he cleared his throat, looked away. "Or came in with ya. I don't know. Damn!"

The pride Yvette felt deflated to her belly, stabbed by guilt.

Calvin looked like a little boy who took a wrong turn into the woods. Or perhaps a grown man baby who didn't know how to apologize to slaves he got hurt. Obviously he was the type of master who liked his Negros damaged on his own terms. Calvin scratched the back of his neck, the red still flaring on his face. Yvette sighed, adopting a soft posture. She moved to the edge of her seat, feeling the need to reach out and pat his shoulder, tell him something so he wouldn't feel so bad.

But what to say to him exactly? Sorry for dropping the eggs? She didn't want to apologize for being harassed. She felt sorry that he might've been sorry, but didn't want to excuse his errors. Yvette turned her chin to her shoulder, the white material frumpy from where that Johnston man had twisted his hands into it.

She stiffened as Calvin's hand dropped to the shoulder. He tugged down her blouse just enough to bare her shoulder. Her heart dropped, jumped, but he just stared, the look on his face careful.

They'd just entered Candieland, the sun an orange clove against a calm sky, bluing light with touches of late afternoon. The carriage grinded on across the dusty earth, through the fields. Aside from some field women they quickly passed, Yvette saw no more people. No field slaves and no work hands. Perhaps everyone in their cabins. This was where she'd last seen Billy and she felt herself looking about, wondering where he went after work, anyways.

"You bruise easy?" Calvin asked. His thumb stroked her shoulder. Yvette braced to wince, but felt no pain as his soft finger travelled over the naked surface, even when it neared the stressed skin.

"Yeah," Yvette admitted, a bit breathy from his incessant stroking.

"Thought so." Calvin's fingertips circled along her shoulder. The touch felt so light and she quivered. "You got liquid skin. Weak."

That drew her up a little. Weak? Yvette turned her head to him so fast her braid slapped her cheek. Her brows lowered.

"Says him with the feather hands."

Calvin's lips quirked, looking amused.

"Feather hands?" he asked. He slid a finger over the peak of her shoulder, then further down the length of her arm. Yvette's stomach hollowed, feeling empty as the fields.

_Maybe I shouldn't say things like that. _

Calvin's finger kept running down her shoulder, scattering her awareness on anything but his hands. Heat blossomed through her body.

"How'd you know to come get me?" She asked to draw his attention away from strolling that finger down her arm. It worked, for he paused in his trail. He stared at her for a quiet while, then rolled a finger across his bearded chin.

"Because," the blue in his eyes held hers, went deep. "You were takin' too damn long."

Yvette's belly felt something liquefy. Why did those words seem like confession?

The look he was giving her made her feel woozy. She sucked in an abrupt breath and it dried her throat and mouth. Yvette swallowed for moisture, then wetted her parched lips, stopped in mid-act when she recalled Calvin's words about licking her lips from earlier. That he'd have to join her tongue if she did it again.

Teeth in a little clench, she glanced up from beneath her eyelashes.

Calvin's eyes were hooked to her mouth. He breathed deep, nostrils flared before softening again. The hand left her shoulder, his body pulled to the edge of his seat. His legs slipped around hers and Yvette couldn't move, felt rooted under his stare, supersensitive to his quickening pants. His body.

"Crash ain't here to interrupt us," Calvin said. He grasped Yvette's chin, drawing it up. "Want to finish what we started?"_  
_

Once more, Yvette's thoughts weren't agreeing.

Yes._ No._

Without waiting for answer, Calvin moved his body forward.

Yvette's hands lifted on instinct, palms out, but Calvin's approaching chest just pressed against them, the hand even tighter on her chin.

"Please," Yvette said, her voice a whimper. All her air felt trapped in her chest. "Don't."

Calvin's face still moved close and Yvette tensed. His mouth stopped right outside of hers. So near she could taste the dry air on his breath. She would hardly have to lean in for her lips to touch his, to swallow that arid breath.

"Or what," Calvin said, words fanning her mouth. She felt trapped under his hot breath, the press of his fingers on her face, his legs at either side of her. "Your boyfriend gonna shoot me?"

Yvette kind of wanted to say_ maybe_, but instead bit down on her lip.

Regardless, they shouldn't be doing this. Someone was gonna see and they weren't gonna be happy. And if that person was her "boyfriend", she might just be changing her maybe to yes.

Calvin's focus stuck on her lips, still compressed under her teeth. The stare went hot, and, affected by his attention, fire rushed her blood. Yvette turned her head just as she felt his legs flex against hers as he leaned in. Missing her lips, his nose dragged across her cheek.

Breathless, Yvette's gaze darted around her. She saw no one. No one out in the fields and the house still too far. Surely Calvin would stop this if Billy did show up, or someone else, like Sheba.

"You don't wanna kiss me?" He asked, his breath harsh on her cheek. Yvette swallowed against the thick lump in her throat, but didn't answer. Calvin pulled back and both turned forward again, staring at each other. Calvin jerked a hand toward some direction near the trees. His lower lip firmed.

"You rather be kissing my work hand?" His stare pressed against hers, accusing.

"N-no." She said, pressing down a shudder. It wasn't all true, but saying yes didn't seem like a safe answer. Besides, she wasn't feeling all-knowing. Not about Calvin, Billy, anyone. Her old life erased, replaced with new order, state, home. Everything was happening so fast. And now this, men who curled some sort of yearning in her stomach. And not just one, but two. She just… "I don't know."

The carriage grunted past the final gates, entering the yard. She hadn't even realized they'd gone so far. The horsed padded up to the steps and then the carriage paused. There seemed to be no noise. No sound from the house before him, no insects of evening making their first appearance. No breathing.

Yvette wanted to leap from the carriage. To flee from the pinning stare she felt trapped under, looking down at her as if to see through her skin. When Calvin released her to glance at the house, she let out her held air.

Calvin reached over her lap, unlatched the door. But Yvette didn't move and waited for a dismissal.

"Go," Calvin said after watching her face for a moment. A faint smile touched his lips, though it still looked like he'd been sucking on lemon. "Tend to that shoulder."

Yvette hesitated before she rose from her seat, patting down her skirt and stepping out of the carriage. She started across the ground, not stopping, and only glanced back when she reached the top steps. Calvin remained in his carriage, legs crossed. He looked down the stem of his pipe, shook it, then tossed it down to the seat.

At that Yvette hurried into the house, feelings scrambled and mouth still dry.

* * *

**Author Note:**

Hey all,

I apologize for the wait. But! I graduated. From college. Yay! Four years sure know how to crawl as they fly. Anyways, while these 5,893 job applications are pending, I should be updating more often. Also, I have a question for your guys in a near future, having to do with significant details of the story. "Fun" details? :] I may address on a poll in the future but more likely will just end up asking at the end of a chapter.

Anyways, I sincerely hope you enjoyed. Longer than usual, I know, but I didn't want to leave on a cliffhanger after not updating in such a while. I hope it wasn't too much! More "ship-wars" soon! Har har.

Love,

_Yellowspotlight89 _


	14. Hot Rain

**Chapter 14:**

Hot Rain

* * *

_**Just about the time the shadows call, I undress my mind and dare you to follow. Paint a portrait of my mystery. Only close my eyes and you are here with me.**_

"You gone crazy," Billy muttered as he loosened from the foliage, sugarcane remnants snapping underfoot. He swatted dirt from his jeans, plucked off the cricket that'd clung tight the whole ride, all the while salting the night with curses and damnations and _am I really doing this?_

Billy trusted his feet through the darkness, sorting through the grayed shapes until he reached a solid mass. Confirming it as a tree, he dropped his back against its trunk, lost for breath.

If Billy Crash had suspected madness before, his current ventures confirmed it. You not crazy for taking off on a lie, tellin the boys you're gonna walk or piss or somethin. Not even crazy when you're sneakin by way of woods, like a white boy runaway in the night. Nah, you're crazy when you trekkin through them sugarcanes sticking scratchy as they are and all to see a slave who had you achin to see her so bad you damn near numbered the minutes till you _could _go through them sugarcanes.

"Damn it girl,"Billy's gaze scraped over the ashen darkness, dropping onto the cabin. "What you doing to me?"

The cabin, that girl. A few gaping steps away and yet he couldn't go near either. The surge through the fields had the blood tumbling through his legs, breath harsh, and Billy knew the dangers of gettin close to Yvette in such a state. For if he had absorbed one lesson through all the folly as of late, he'd learned that Yvette shook the hell outta his stability.

Steaming out a breath, Billy swept back the hair licking his forehead to tuck it under hat. Moon shadow gleamed over his boots, bloated clouds doing a thorough job of outcasting light. Having not come across any field Negros, he reckoned they felt the heavy hang in the air too, the warm wind and cloud cover that promised rains.

Billy supposed he shouldn't linger long. His breaths had leveled out now, even if hard heartbeats rocked his chest. It was a daunting thought, gettin alone with Yvette. And if that wasn't nerve-wracking enough, it also required speech. His speech. Unlike some suave men he knew, Crash was no word weaver, and the thought of stumbling on his thick tongue with her crept a heat up his neck. Still, she'd looked at him with a stubborn set to her face, demanded explanations for actions with a pressing stare, and Crash was no man to deny things those sweet brown eyes pressed for…

Pushing off the tree trunk, Billy paced the small dirt crook between tree and sugarcanes.

This wasn't supposed to happen. Crash had stayed away with good reason, and all up till that day, he'd honored it.

Maintaining distance from Yvette, he dug his moat, raised the gates, built the barriers. And with all these defenses, Crash figured it'd take more than a short meeting to crack his fortress. There wasn't a man more wrong.

Seconds; that's how long it took for Yvette to cause unfixable damage to his strongholds. Mere moments to his fortress-building days, proving one week was all too little.

The moats, flooded with a hot woozy feeling that tenderized the knees and nearly sent him off his horse.

The gates, crushed by just one look from her, making him want to take back the goodbye he'd left her on and say hello and hello again to those lips, that body.

And the barriers, busted as that carriage rolled out and took her away, leaving Crash behind.

Billy's eyes narrowed onto the dirt beneath his boots.

And her with _him_.

Calvin Fuckin' Candie. Boss, best friend, whatever he considered the man these days, none of the words seemed quite fitting as pest. Calvin made one thing obvious real early;he knew all about Billy's hankerin for the lil' lady delivery. But the blood-sucking gnat just couldn't get enough blood outta him, could he?

Calvin liked to play, paw at a spare bit of yarn beyond Sheba's shoulder. But the things occurring in the carriage that afternoon was more than ideal play; it was a game.

Billy hadn't popped out of the womb yesterday, knew Calvin had been toyin' with him. But there's only so much blood you can get sucked outta ya before your head goes fuzzy, vision black around the edges, and the gun under your thumb before you can consider that, gee, this might be a bad idea…

Them touches had done it. Too much fuckin' touching. Calvin's grubby fingers feelin all over Yvette's body, even darin to snap at her undergarments. That'd really got the heat in him, the rage steamin and boilin through the gut. Candie wasn't just breachin on what Billy considered territory no other man should be exploring; he was disrespectin it.

Bad enough the way he looked at her. With eyes alone peeling away Yvette's blouse, skirt, and the private layers beneath…

Billy spat into the darkness.

The only redeeming moment of that visit had been when Yvette stood up to Calvin, a silly thing he'd warned her enough about. Still, when she made her whip at him, pride took to swellin Crash's chest.

_That's my girl_, he'd thought. _Get them rotten Candie hands off you_.

Lowering his gaze, pain made aware the fingers he dug into his palms. Grumbling, he drew them from his skin, hanging his neck.

If Billy ever wanted to get near this girl, he should really stop thinking. So he did just that, taking cooling breaths to fan the flames in his gut. They settled to a seethe.

Good enough.

With a dip of the chin, Billy set off toward Yvette's cabin. Stopping at the door, he gave a knock, muscles tight as he waited.

And waited.

Silence, such a hollow sound.

Billy curled his knuckles and rammed again. Still, no answer.

Hmph. She must've been sleeping.

Crash didn't mean to invade the space, but reckoned he'd just go inside. Wasn't like a sleeping body was available to give an okay for his entrance. Besides, she might needed help coming to, and he'd delight to assist her…

Billy took the doorknob underhand.

"Comin in," he announced, pushing the door open. "If you're not decent, cover up..."

He glimpsed inside the cabin.

Even with the moonlight tangled in the clouds, there was enough shine to see that Yvette wasn't there. His gut gave a twist.

Yvette was not there and it was probably a sign. Divine intervention from the Good Lord himself, sayin go home, Billy. The boys back at the lodge playing rummy. Don't ya wanna see Stonesipher get his sets and runs mixed up? Tommy cheat him and everyone crack up and pass around the beers and beans?

Too little too late, though, these heavenly attempts at redirection. Beer and beans don't set well in a knotted stomach.

Crash had told her later. Which meant late, such as under night cover when he finished working and she'd be away from lap-roamin Calvin.

Unless, Billy considered, she was still with him. Possibilities churched in his head, each one timber to a fire pit stomach.

Billy hauled the cabin door shut. Backing up a few steps, his chin rose to the manor beyond. The longer he stared at the sturdy white structure, the terser his expression grew.

_Ah, Big House. I sure as hell aint miss you._

But he was missin someone.

It was Friday, which meant Sheba was at the club all day and night, working as Madame alongside co-hostin Moguy. With Sheba absent, was Calvin in want of a feminine form to warm his bed?

If Yvette was there…in bed…with him….

He gave his head a vicious shake.

Nope. Aint happenin. Not in 1858 with Crash still wearin spurs on his boots, it wasn't.

He'd had no intentions of going back so soon. Planned on sidestepping the big house to avoid the pending meet. He had to see Calvin at the club tomorrow, but the plan was to lie back till business forced them into proximity.

Well business was forcing him now. _Billy's_ business.

And not Calvin's to drag his paws all over. Just as that man failed to fathom French, the Junior Candie couldn't seem to grasp the simple concept of one man to one woman. If prompted, Billy wouldn't resist educating him.

An agitated hand set on his hat, the other hooked at the belt hoop as Billy set forward. Passing Yvette's cabin, he edged alongside the side till he reached the gate behind it. Billy kept his eyes on the house as he slipped beyond the gaping front gates, slinking into the yard. Glow from rooms sketched across the lawn and dirt path, pressuring Crash to stay low, back bowed as he edged toward the house.

Climbing the steps of the portico, Billy exhaled on a chuckle. Look at him, sneakin about like a night crawler through the grasses.

For a girl.

"I'm mad alright," Billy muttered, ear at the door to note any life from inside. Sensing no movement, he tried at the knob. Resistance jerked his wrist back.

Ah. Well. He had keys. Crash reached into his back pocket, diggin around to retrieve them.

When the door flew open, Billy froze, staring down at the light now cutting across the platform. Across from his boots were heels attached to stockings, higher up a flaring dress. Coco ogled Crash from the entryway, her eyes keen on him and her mouth looking stuck in a crescent moon. After a moment, she pulled out from the door, her eyes twinkling and the crescent going full moon with her draw of breath.

_No._

"Bon—!"

With a lurch of his feet, Billy got a hand over her mouth, cutting off the exclaim before Coco announced his present to all of Candieland.

"Hush," he said, suspicious from how bright the whites of her eyes were under his hand. When Coco nodded vigorously, he glanced over her shoulder. Good. No one else in the foyer, at least. He wondered how a person could sneak about so good, and if she had pointers. Removing the hand from her mouth, Billy reached around her to shut the door, dropping back on his heel.

Billy expected a rush of questions, but instead Coco stood quiet, a rare moment for someone he knew to chat the skin off an ear.

"Uh, howdy," he said when listening to cricket song and the blows of hot wind too much.

"Bonjour, Billy." Coco pinched her dress and curtsied. Even under the weak light sealed shutters emitted, he could see somethin of a glow on her face, cheeks rounded out in a smile.

Most talk with Coco involved him nodding and doing an eye-dance over the room as she chattered on about club, house and plantation going-ons he didn't think normal people would know. Hmm. Well, this could work out. If anyone, Coco might know where Yvette was. And _if_ she were with someone.

Billy's brows drew together, sensing impending difficulty. Now to get it out of her without asking for it. Coco fidgeted, folding and unfolding her skirts. She kept glancing up at him, lips pulled in as if something burned to come out.

"You gotta say something?" Crash asked her, scratching his neck.

"Oh, not really…" she said, halting her fidgets. "But I thought you might? Since you tugged me out here like this."

"Ah. Yea, well…" Billy's eyes circled the backdrop as if words would slide out from the shutters. Then his eye landed on the top of Coco's head. He smirked. Well, there's somethin different. That bow she always wore was gone, replaced with some frilly-looking headpiece tied up and around her neck.

"That's a good-lookin bonnet." Billy said. The skin at his eyes tensed right after he said it. Lame as an old dog, that was, but the best offhand comment he could muster.

"You think so?" Coco's lips pushed into a smile, and it dissolved Billy's worry. "Yvette can't braid to save herself but I suppose she's good at tinkerin around with other things. I told her she didn't have to do nothin 'cuz I like fussing with her hair but she—"

"Yvette?" Billy interrupted, breaching in the name before Coco left it too far behind.

"Yeah," she said, hands going to her head, beaming. "She made this for me."

He wanted to smile too, impressed with her craft, but instead sorted his face in what he hoped look like confusion.

"Yvette, huh.…nope. Not sure who that is."

"You don't?" Coco's voice raised several notches.

Damn, why'd she have to get so excited?

"Can't say I do," Billy ground out.

"You have to know who she is," Coco said, pressing her thumbs together. "I mean, you took her away the otha week. At the club. Don't remember that?"

"I drag away a lot of negros," Billy took to rubbing his cheek, still sensitive from his shave. The boys couldn't stop makin fun of him for all his groomin that evening. Just cuz he took a careful bath and adjusted his hat in the mirror a couple times he was suddenly Lady Billy? He'd like to see them sweatin pigs get close to a woman.

"But she's the new one," Coco was saying. "You know, came from up north. 'Bout one bit shorter than me. A lotta curly hair?"

A shiver touched his spine. No need to remind Billy of that pretty head of hers. She'd had it braided back last time he saw, but easily pictured himself unraveling that extricate twist. He'd lose sight of his fingers in her spirals, clench them by the loose fistfuls, draw her forward to get her mouth on his….

Billy groaned. His jeans got tight and uncomfortable.

_Man, if you don't control yourself. _

"Yeah. I remember her now," Billy said, freeing a cough. He switched his weight between heels. "Do ya'll get along?"

"Mmm hmm," Coco said, eying Billy's shifting feet before she shrugged. "Yvette's real nice. Just kinda distancy sometimes."

"Oh?" He leveled out his tone to keep disinterest in his voice. "How that is?"

"She gets on well with all of us, but after dismissals just head out to that old cabin Brunhilde used ta…work in."

"Ah," Billy said, brows furrowed to display surprise. Fact was, he already knew.

On one of the nights he couldn't sleep, wrestling thoughts he shouldn't be thinkin, he'd taken Sandman for a ride around the property. Crash only realized they'd been wandering in the direction of the forbidden subject till he was outside her window. This led to an internal debate as to why lookin in was a bad idea. But a man named Peeping Tom eventually convinced him that it wasn't bad at all. He would merely check on her. A quick glance would be fine, see if things was in order, the girl breathing right.

But glancing in, it got hard to concern himself with her breathing with his own goin fluid. There oughta be laws against female bodies laying up in such tantalizing sleep arrangements, and Yvette charged immediately. They oughta outlaw the way she clung to that pillow, makin a man want to be the warm thing she wound her arms around. And for Mississippi's sake, Jigsaw County, forbid those temptress legs from twistin round in them sheets, revealin just enough to say "Look at what you're missin, Billy. Staying away from me…" Needless to say, Crash rode off a mightily concerned citizen.

"Yeah," Coco was saying, drawing Billy back. "She'd probably be out there now if Stephen didn't put her up on extra rooms. Probably mad cuz she left to town today in the middle of a cleanin and he didn't have no say in the matter and thought she didn't…"

There, he struck gold. Yvette was cleaning. A well-approved activity that involved no contact with sweet talkin, leg strokin men. Billy's front began its melt at the news, replaced with frequent glances over Coco's shoulder, a foot taking to jitterin.

"But that's life, right?" Coco said, hands falling to her sides.

"Yeah…" Billy scratched his neck, having not heard much. "Say, Coco, was nice talking with ya, but I'mma head up inside now. Was gonna meet with…Calvin."

Which wasn't a lie. Not happening anytime soon if he could help it, but not a lie.

"Ah," Coco said. She got quiet, looking off, then said. "I heard you gonna be at the club tomorrow."

_Damn, how she know everything?_

"Yep. Gotta 'dingo to look at."

"Then I'll be seeing you," Coco said. She curtsied. "Bye for now."

Crash recuperated the pleasantry, tippin his hat. He cracked the door, noting distance voices, dishes clinking from farther spaces, but the foyer clear. Letting Coco go on past him, he stood by in the amber-splashed foyer till she disappeared through the overhang that lead to slave quarters.

_Maybe the Good Lord ain't so disapproving_, Billy thought and slipped toward the staircase, cringing at the clank of his boots. Low candles tossed frail glow across the halls and shut doors. Pacing down the short foyer, he afforded glances over the balcony before slipping right. Pausing beside a wide-bodied urn, he gathered his bearings. Folks came and went so often in these rooms; it was hard to know when someone was in and when they wasn't. He'd have to do some guess work.

Slipping out from the urn, Billy tried the door closest him. To prevent light from swallowing the space, he only let it part partially. A good look inside proved it vacant.

Letting the door click close, Billy moved to the next bedroom. Similar results there, and he headed onto the next.

Sweat began to dampen his neck by the fourth door, peepin in to see Butch blowin nose bubbles in his sleep. So many rooms to go, and what if Yvette wasn't in any? Maybe she'd finished up her rooms. Hell, maybe Coco hadn't even meant bedrooms.

Billy's stomach flipped.

Or maybe Yvette was in a bedroom, one in which he doubted there'd be any cleanin. A bitter taste stabbed his tongue.

"I'll kill him," he muttered, gripping the next door's handle and haulin it open. Less thorough, his eyes darted over the canopied bed and he began to shut the door.

"Billy?"

He paused, tightened. He knew that voice. Coarse with a whisper, but all too familiar. Through the dusky space, a glow caught his eye. Under the glow was a hand. Attached to the hand was an arm. And to that arm, a body.

"Is it later yet?" Yvette asked, wearing a half smile. It revealed a slight dimple in her left cheek. Billy's stomach flipped.

_Hows she do it?_ He wondered. Weaken the knees where he stood, lookin like a brown-skinned black-hair angel? And he, the white devil come to indulge in the sweet sin of her presence.

"Yea," he said, boots clapping into the bedroom. "It is."

Like a thirsty sailor, Billy drank her in. Quenched his thirst for the large eyes, brown and rich as a good malt. Sipped on the subtle curves on slender body, leaned up against the clothing chest. Damn, if he didn't get a drink of her soon…

Billy's eye caught the rupture in her throat as she swallowed, and he put a check on his greedy appraisal. Enough drinking for now. Yvette set down the candle, looping her fingers around the drawer handles behind her.

"How'd you know I was here?" she asked, chin angled at her slippers.

"I didn't."

"Lucky guess?"

Billy shrugged.

"Trial and error."

Yvette's head tipped to the side.

"Oh. Sounds…risky."

A smirk nudged his lips.

"I've done riskier things of late."

"True." Yvette pulled her lip between teeth, her chin dropping again. Damn, what did this mean? She wouldn't hold his eye long, gaze constantly dusting her feet. He remembered the girl who stared him head on, but this one couldn't even look at him.

"You grown timid on me?" He tried to keep his tone slack, but the words were strained, harder than he'd liked.

"No." Yvette patted her hands against her skirt, suddenly interested in the faint pattern across the creamy fabric. He'd be interested in all that too if he weren't so concerned 'bout her shuttin him out.

"Then why ain't you lookin at me."

What could he expect, though? Open arms and a peck to the cheek? Crash hadn't been around, just as they were startin to build something. Friendship… something deeper. But he'd pulled the brick on that by leavin, huh? Billy scrubbed a hand over his face, regret for his decision heightened by the second. When he pulled back the hand, Yvette was looking at him, her eyelids drawn, feline on her dainty features.

"You didn't scare me before," she said. "And you don't scare me now. You're the Nice Guy. Remember?"

That did somethin to him, her callin him that. Shot warmth in his bones. Feeding off that pleasant heat, his own gaze lowered.

"Come over here and prove it then."

"My pleasure." The fingers clutching the dresser slackened, and with a shove, Yvette drew forward.

Breath held, Billy watched her approach. The shift of collarbone above loose blouse, the skirts stirring at her calves. Knowing his own limits, he refused to linger on places between calves and stopped before him, so close that he could pull her forward with an arm, face to the chest, body flush to his own. The temptation tugged like insistent threads at his fingertips.

"As I said," Yvette's finger went out to poke Billy's chest. "I'm not scared of you."

That tempting tug to get her against him sharpened, her touch to his bicep a hindrance to resisting.

"Well you scare me," he said, leaning in, giving in.

Crash had her hands detained in a second, body against his the next. Yvette's exhale fanned his shirt, and he groaned at the tickle of breath. Draping an arm around her neck, Billy looped her waist with the other, keeping her close. There he paused. He waited for resistance, for her to break from his grip, push him, and run away. But if anything, Yvette sank into him deeper. If anything, her heart's pound was at a race against his own. Billy shivered at the slide of her hands across the hide of his vest, light as fingertips testing water.

God, if the touch didn't break out a flight of bats through his belly.

His face lowered and he caught the muted scent on her, like soap and fresh laundry.

"Why you smell so good," he murmured to her hair. His lips twitched when he felt her tremble.

"Baths usually do that," Yvette said, breathy. "And washing bed sheets all evening."

"Suppose that helps."

She fit so right against him, her body filling empty slots he hadn't realized needed filling.

_The hell I stay away for?_

Well, Calvin of course. And his own sanity's sake. But in this moment his reasons felt like flimsy excuses to deny the truth. That from the moment Yvette stumbled across Johnny and Boys' stage, he wanted her. Not to replace Brunhilde and definitely not for Calvin.

Just for himself, simple as that.

"Billy," she said, his name sliding from her lips in a sigh and a question.

"Hmm."

Crash couldn't think in full sentences, relaxed in her scent, the soft press of her body. Fragmented thoughts populated his brain, saying _Yes. This. Needed this. _

_Her._

"You did close the door…right?"

Hell.

The fog cleared from his brain. Without loosing his arms from around her, Crash waddled back, kicking the door shut with his boot. The slam rattled his teeth; bells and whistles.

It didn't take long to hear the voices. Far off, but one pointedly Stephen.

Double hell.

Yvette slid free from Billy, her eyes swallowing her face.

"You gotta go," she said. "Stephen's gonna send someone up to yell at me."

"Nah," Crash said. He came forward, about to draw Yvette to him by the shoulder, but she looked alarmed and slipped out of his reach. His hand dropped, a cold weight in his stomach like rejection. "They don't know what door got slammed."

Yvette shook her head.

"But they'll assume this one. I slammed the door twice tonight. The window's open so the wind just…"

Thick steps broke out from a distance and Billy's stomach took a dive. Stephen didn't faze him, but whereas Stephen was an extension of Calvin and tonight's mission was keep Candie Man blind and deaf, he was feelin the pressure.

Billy gleaned over the space, hunting for a closet, wardrobe, anywhere a tall man could hide.

"Come." Yvette seized Billy's hand and started off so fast he stumbled before gaining footing. As she led him by the fingertips through the dimly lit space, his bones got a thrill, noting she was bringing him to the bed. Of course the reasons his body reacted to didn't pertain, but it served as a diversion for the terse circumstance. They arrived to the bedside, she tugged it open, and Billy bent to crawl in.

"Too slow," Yvette said, shoving him inside. Tripling, his face sank into the porous pillow before he caught a breath.

"Sly thing," he mumbled, situating to his back.

Her smirk came and went as footsteps scraped outside the door. Yvette yanked the hangings together just as light bloomed over the room.

"Girl!"

Body anchored to the bedding, Crash lay stiff as a fish.

"It won't happen again, Ms. Cora," Yvette said, voice a waver.

"You bet it won't. I'm shutttin' that window." Heavy clotting sounded across the floor. "Stephen was ready to come up here and smack you silly. Be grateful I came instead. Now move on over."

The window whumped closed and Yvette's body leaned on the opaque drapery, presenting an allure of narrow lines and blooming shapes. Was something steady for Crash to concentrate on as spidery nerves crawled up and down his body.

"You almost done in here?" Cora asked.

"Yes, Ma'am. Just need to see over my work."

"Well, I'll check you over now, since you got me up here."

Billy's finger nubs dipped into the cushioning.

_Lord, keep that woman away __from this bed._

There was the rap of bustling feet, drawers sliding and thumping close, the squeak of fingers across surface tops. Yvette hadn't moved from her press at the drapes, and Billy read the tension in her shoulders, wanting nothing more than to massage that out of her.

"Seems you done good again," Cora said, the vague lines of her figure clarified as they got close to the canopy. "You changed them bed sheets?"

"Um…" Yvette paused. "Yes?"

"Lemme take a look then."

Cora's fingers slipped between the curtains and Crash tensed. The game was over. Soon she'd throw the curtains back, see him, and shriek.

"No, no!" Yvette said. "I mean, no ma'am. I didn't get on that yet."

Cora's hand clutched the netting.

"No, you say?"

"Yeah. No."

"Which is it, girl?"

"Cora!" A gruff voice called. "Get your big ass down here and…!" the rest muffled with the distance.

Cora groaned.

"If that ole coot bark my name one more time tonight, I swear." The fingers slid out from the curtain, and Crash's stomach relaxed. "When you figure out a yes or no on them sheets, girl, put out these candles and go'on."

"Yes Miss Cora," Yvette said, her voice faint.

Steps faded, the door clicked, and Yvette puffed out a breath.

"She's gone."

Crash felt for her relief, but a thrilled heat clung in his body. 'Cuz now, he realized, they were alone and he was lying on a bed. Lifting from the pillow, Billy set down his hat, brushed the canopy aside. Yvette still had her back to the bed, concentrated on the door. Utilizing her oblivious state, Crash caught her by the waist and lured her back. Yvette squeaked as she sank, her body falling down beside him and springing against the cushions.

Yvette was caught between breaths, hand to her heart.

"You…Why'd you do that?"

"Ya pushed me, so I pulled you," Billy said, spreading out beside her. "But it don't matter, anyway. I don't scare you, right?"

"I change my mind about you," she mumbled. "You're not Nice Guy anymore. You're Mean Guy."

Billy chortled a little, leaning up to close the drapes. The enclosed canopy colored the space a sleepy gray, and he turned to lay back down.

"You okay?" He asked, gaze roaming over.

"Yeah, yeah," Yvette said, tone loose. "Just had enough surprises for today."

"I see." Billy caught on the rapid movement of Yvette's blouse. Her chest rose and fell with breathy intakes, breasts rounded mounds against the loose material. Desire jerked through Crash's body.

Turning his eye to the ceiling, he now managed his own intakes. For a long moment, no one spoke, just filled their calm space with fading pants.

When he felt controlled again, Billy looked upon Yvette again. Her chest had calmed, thank goodness, and her eyelids were sealed.

"Sleepin?" he asked, propping an elbow to pillow. His gaze drew from her face to her form. He was glad for her closed eyes. It allowed him a proper look at her, time to explore the partial dip in her cheekbones, the gentle lines of her shape.

Lashes twitched against her cheeks, a curve of lips under shadows.

"As if I'm thinking of sleep right now."

Billy stomach hollowed, feeling sweaty. She couldn't mean much by that, but it didn't stop the stiffening under his jeans.

He wished to draw her close to his side, trace the bend of her waist to the arc of hips. Doing so with his eyes would have to do, and he indulged his gaze, straining to prevent eyes from replacing hands.

"Men are funny," Yvette said. "Or maybe it's just you."

Billy startled, focused back on her face.

"I'm sure it's just me," Billy said. "But what you mean?"

"I want you, Yvette," she said, lowering her lilting tone into a southern drawl. "Just joking. Adieu, Yvette. Now I'm back and here to stare you up and down, Yvette."

Her eyes lifted gradually, one brow curved.

So she knew it, did she.

"Got eyes on top of eyes?"

Billy's smirk dropped at the look on her face. The same one from the fields, a pressing stare that demanded explanations. He'd told her later, hadn't he? Well, here was later. Sighing, Crash dropped down beside her. He crossed his arms behind his head, the pillow cool against his forearms.

As he sought words to fit up with his thoughts, he loosed the boots off the feet. His body felt rigid enough without the sole-clutching things. Yvette slid off her shoes too, pushing them off the edge with her toes.

"I stayed away for good reason," Billy said after a moment.

"Okay," Yvette rose on an elbow, looking down at his face with her braid twisting down over her shoulder. The fantasies of letting the curls fall free around her face came to memory. "Does this good reason have anything to do with… Monsieur Candie?"

"Yea," Billy murmured. Annoyance hitting his chest, he glared off to the side.

He didn't like how that name sounded on her lips. Curious, as if tasting it.

Yvette touched Billy's face and his gaze rose back to her. Her palm felt soft against the short bristles of his cheek, and his tensed jaw relaxed. See boys? Shaving was useful. Too much beard and you can't appreciate a warm palm on your cheek, creeping silky heat through your face.

"You don't like him," Yvette said. Not accusing, but a statement.

Billy thought on that.

"Nah," he said. "That ain't true."

"Then what is?"

"Aint much more to it. Just…I don't dislike him."

Crash could admit it, even if he wanted to strangle Calvin with his own neckties more days than not. Yvette gave a little grunt. When she took her hand back, the lost of warmth felt like a swat for bad behavior.

"Be clear." Her lip pouched out, brows straight over eyes.

He had an urge to peck that pout, but the right mind not to. Yvette looked cute, but an angry, wrong-move-and-I'll-hurt-you-cute. The anger kept Crash from kissing her, but the cute had him taking her wrist in hand.

"I don't dislike Candie," Billy said. He tugged her down a short ways closer, held her hostage with a stare. "I dislike him and you."

He knew Yvette was Calvin's to do as he pleased, was never Billy's to lay claim on. The Candieland retriever don't keep the bone. Just tell his body that, though, the possessive heat flaring in his stomach at the thought of Calvin kissing her, touching her, doing much of anything with her…

Billy hoped the heat in his eyes answered her questions, 'cuz the burn in his gut felt hot and clear.

"Well," Yvette said, "Disappearing hardly fixes that. For all you know, he could have…" Her sturdy pulse quickened under his hand.

Billy freed her wrist, pushing up on the heel of his hands.

"Coulda what?" His mind flashed, flickering through scenarios that could stir her pulse as it just had.

"Nothing," Yvette said. She sank back on her heels, plucking bits of lint from her skirt.

"Didn't seem like nothing," Billy groused.

"Well, it is. Nothing, I mean."

Billy lifted her bowed face with his fingertips.

"I'm pretty sure it ain't."

"I'm pretty positive it _is_."

Yvette slipped away from his fingers, her eyes set down again. The same falter of contact from when he first walked in the room. Billy's chest tightened. She said she wasn't timid on him, then what was all this? He could only think of one other person that got her like that.

"Let's define nothin' here." Crash said, words grinding out from clenched teeth. "Nothing as in a kiss. More than a kiss?"

"Nothing as in nothing," she said. "Though I'm not sure why it concerns you."

_She can't be serious._

"I think you know why it concern me."

"Which goes back to my point. Saying you want me and then leaving." She snapped her fingers. "Just like that."

Things got quiet for a moment, both parties looking steamed, before he said "I came back."

"Yeah," Yvette subdued voice melted into the pallid space. "Only because you saw me with Calvin."

Ugh. That name again. The way she said it. Too much keenness, exploring.

"Candie wasn't the only good reason to stay away," Billy couldn't keep the blaze out of his eyes as he stared at her. "You done bringing him up yet?"

Her eyes narrowed.

"How can I not? He's a part of this all. And I'm not talking about him in any special way."

It was Crash's turn to narrow his eyes.

"You say his name in a special way."

Yvette looked startled.

"No, I don't."

"Yea, you do."

"But I don't."

"I'm _damned_ sure you do." Crash hated how bitter he sounded, accusing her, but couldn't seem to stop the flush of words, urged on by dark feelings.

"Let's not talk about this anymore." Yvette said. Her eyelids slid low, as if too weary to support her lashes. A good heartbeat passed. She lifted them again and a gloss crowded her eyes. "Okay?"

Crash felt pain like a kick in the gut.

_Damn it, I'm hurtin her_.

He knew this would happen. Devils don't play well with angels; they just get them dirty. Crash couldn't read into her every mention of Calvin, or even how she said his name. It only let the nerve get the best of him, the fear he'd already lost her to Candie charm.

Billy's brows knitted in, heart at a lurch.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" Yvette asked him, lips pressed.

"Cuz you crying," Billy said. He felt dumb, useless.

"Wha? No, I'm not." Yvette dabbed her eye with the blade of her knuckle, looking short-tempered when spotting the wetness that gleamed there.

"See? You are."

"I'm _not_."

With a scowl, Yvette turned her back and dropped on her side, skirts tucked under her curling form.

"I don't cry."

Billy wanted to draw her back around and smooth away the look she'd left him with. Kiss her wet eyelids and taste the saltwater on his lips. But it wasn't that simple. Emotions didn't just melt away with a touch or words. Still, he could try.

Billy spread out behind her, bed dipping as he lay down. He tugged Yvette's body close to him, leaving a palm-sized breach between their bodies. There was a short intake as her shoulders tucked, but she didn't pull away and that was assurance enough.

"Then what's this," Billy said, reaching over her body to cup her hand. He traced a finger over the moisture at her skin. "Rain?"

Yvette's laugh was short, partially muffled by the pillow against her cheek, but hearing that sound put some spring in his mood.

"Okay, tears, but not from crying. It's just…I'm frustrated."

"Frustrated?" His laugh was low. "You can't tell me bout frustration."

Yvette slid her hand free and turned to face him.

"And why not?" She asked, lips tight in impatient wait.

"I've been in steady frustration since pickin up a little slave girl at an auction."

Yvette's expression relaxed, though her lip kept its stubborn set.

"Well," she said after a moment. "That's your own fault for picking up little slave girls."

"But she was the perfect fit. Still is."

"Why, because I speak French?" she asked. "Well, let me unlearn it for you, then return me to that Gentleman you bought me off of."

Billy's heart dropped at that, teasing or not.

"Nah, that wouldn't work," he said. "Besides, I'm not sure if I can unlearn how you got me feelin. But if you figure out a way to get less soft on my eye, let me know."

"But that's hardly frustrating." Her voice hitched in what seemed like increasing awareness to him, her eyes clear and alive under the pale gray light.

"Ah, but it is." Billy set a hand on Yvette's waist, drawing her close enough to meld the palm-sized space between their bodies into a distance that'd just fit a thumb. So close the heat on her body slid down Crash's form and shot warmth through his bones.

"For one," he started, locking her on his stare. "I can't seem to get through two thoughts without you being one of them. You know how problematic that be? Someone ask you a question and gotta repeat it cuz you ain't even heard um?"

Yvette's malty pupils were liquid in the dark, but not with tears.

Billy drew her closer until her form pressed flush against his. The mound in his jeans nudged against her, still hard as rock. Her breaths affected, Yvette's belly flexed at the touch.

"And this. The most frustrating thing of all. Since you first put those smooth hands on me, this been happening. But you won't see me leakin no frustration tears."

Oh, he griped about it. Mighta had to get away and do something about it –empty and lonely release– but nah, he ain't cry.

Billy drew back his legs so that his arousal didn't disturb her. Still, encouraged by her heavy breaths, he led her face to his chest. Groaning, he soothed his hand across the small of her back, resting there before sliding lower, fingers brushing her rear. She gave a soft moan, and blood pulsed through his groin and hardened him even more. Ah, he'd need to stop that.

Yvette took to a light trembling and he parted their bodies, worried his last acts were too forward. But when he looked down on her face, she didn't look frightened or appalled. Her eyes bright under dim light, lips in a slight purse.

"I think I know your other good reason. Why you left."

"Really," Billy said. "And what you think that is?"

"You like me," Yvette paused. "You tried to forget about me."

"That's right," Billy said. Leaning forward, his lips brushed her ear. "I couldn't."

The truth of the words hit him. He must've known all along he'd be back to her side. The walls were flimsy from the start, his moats shallow if not empty, and the barriers? Laughable, shattering with just a few shakes from Calvin's intrusion.

That whole time spent resisting her, he'd tried to pretend she hadn't crawled under his skin. Turns out it was too late and she'd already burrowed herself a home.

Billy's heart was a one man hut, and he'd resisted to feel someone gettin in. But now, knowing how good it felt to actually have that someone in his space, he didn't want her anywhere else.

Eyes drawn on her face, he caught the upturn of her lips.

"What you so smiley about?" He asked.

"You," she said, and smiled more. And Billy thought he was a man of few words.

Crash studied her softened expression, could see the thoughts passing over her eyes. He'd enjoy knowin her secret feelings, understanding what lay under her faraway gaze.

Before he could read much more, Yvette turned away from him. He felt disappointed until she settled back against him. He murmured at the touch then brought his arm around her, welcoming the form burrowing against him. Heat in the cool space.

Yvette's fingers eased across his arm, stimulating the sensitive surface. She reached his hand, layered over hers, and he opened his fingers to draw hers in. They fit neatly, impossibly soft against his toughened palm.

As they settled into a pleasant quiet, Billy noted soft pads beyond the canopy. His stomach leapt until he realized it musta been the rain. When the padding turned into pounds, his heart pounded with it, his senses keen on the gentle stirring of Yvette's body, and how good she fit against him. Real good.

_What now? _He thought. He had her under his arm and liked it real fine, but wasn't exactly familiar with this sort of situation. He knew to ignore certain suggestions simpering through mind, though.

_Why don't you loosen these jeans, Billy? Might feel more comfortable._

_It's gettin warm in here, Billy. Who needs these layers?_

"Is this good?" Billy asked her, shuttin up those voices.

Yvette stirred underneath him, lazy eyelids fluttering open.

"Is what good?"

"Us. Like this." Billy swung their clasped hands a bit before letting it fall back to the bed. "Anything else you want me to…? I mean…"

He felt her body warm, toastier than before.

"I've never…I'm not gonna—"

"I didn't mean none of that." Billy tensed, face hot.

They was in the Deep South already and he didn't need southern thoughts getting him any warmer.

"Then yes. This is good," Yvette said, softly voiced.

He relaxed.

"Good."

Leaving behind her hand, Billy drew back his arm so that it tightened around her middle.

Anyone could burst in, catch them like this and report to his Highness. Yet Billy couldn't think beyond Yvette's warmth against his body, the satisfied throb of his chest. In fact, forget just ole anyone. Let Calvin himself come brush back the drapes and see them there. Let Calvin know that Billy didn't care for his intimidations, legal papers or conventions.

He chose her. He wanted her. The rest didn't matter.

"Mine," He said against Yvette's ear, breath at her nape. She quivered against him, breath loose. Liking that reaction, he extended his arm, fingers splayed across her hip. "Mine."

Billy wasn't a covetous man, not one to hold things too tight. But Yvette was worth keeping close. Yvette was worth holding stingily. If Calvin wished to rip it up, Crash would be hard-pressed to let her go.

But that still remained a question, his thoughts.

Just like Yvette's.

Billy knew he had to ask, despite what his head wished to declare as clear sky fact. Him and her and that was it. Wasn't her body's heat against his approval? The way she settled beside him, comfortable enough to have her back to him? This wouldn't work with just any man, especially being what she was, and he who he was.

But his declarations were wishful thinking. Loose shoots through in the dark until he actually knew her answer.

He had to ask.

"How you feel about it," Billy asked her. Then, forcing himself, added. "How you feel about _him_?"

Billy's stomach constricted in wait of a reply, the strike of rain against the window a constant rush. He waited in the tired darkness, forehead against her hair, listening to her exhales and hoping the next one carried words. The longer he waited, the harder his heart pounded.

"Come on, Yvette," he said. "I went on and told you how I felt, and I aint no wordsmith. You talk too good to be speechless now."

When she still gave him silence, his stomach got to knottin, fearing all the things that silence meant.

"Damn it, girl." Billy rose up to look on her face. "I ain't gonna be mad. You're free to feel as you please. I just…" His gripe died down, staring good and long at her. Yvette's lashes relaxed against her cheeks, lips half parted as placid breaths slid between him. Asleep.

"Of course," he thought, rubbing the back of his neck. He felt a bit ashamed, getting all worked up trying to draw out confessions. All to a sleeping face, tired from the long hot day.

_I'll just leave her here to rest_, he thought. Crash doubted anyone would come by and Yvette deserved a soft bed. It was better than her headin' out in that hissing rain to a cabin, anyway. Though it's exactly what he planned for himself.

"Bon nuit," he said, bringing his lips to her hairline. He paused them there, basking in her fresh scent before parting. Inching to the edge of the bed, Billy set his hat back on his head, pushing aside the drapes. When he looked back on her again, curled up and breathing lightly, his chest twisted in protest of his leaving.

He wanted no more than to stay, press up beside her and draw that body against his again. However, it wasn't right. She'd let him lay by her, not sleep by her. Plus, it was risky. Now that he could think beyond the warm body, reality was creeping in steady as those raindrops.

He hadn't talked with Calvin yet. Didn't know his stance on any of these things. The man muddled his opinion in game and riddle, had yet to give a clear "go 'head" or "go away." But if Calvin satisfied his sweet tooth in Sheba, it shouldn't be a problem if Billy himself had his own craving for a Negro slave girl, right?

Unless, Billy thought, Calvin didn't have just one sweet tooth.

Till he knew, Billy would protect this secret. Knowing that keepin it low protected her too, plus the daddy he supported and the few slaves they had left…and a brother.

Pulling out from the drapes, he left Yvette on the soft surface alone.

For now, he had no choice.

Closing the hangings, Billy rounded the bed where his boots weighed down the canopy.

Plucking them out, he began to plop them down to get them on, then stopped. The heels against wood floors had a habit of clanking, and if anything he wished to get out of this house smooth and quiet. He might as well just hold them till he got outside.

Heading by the clothing chest, Billy blew out the candles, shortened to dribbling nubs, let the silky gray smoke fold into darkness before padding to the door. His ear listened against the wood before he exited. With another thanks to the Lord for the shadowy space, Crash headed off down the hall on socked feet.

Billy's descend of the stairs was much softer too. He finished them off in brisk steps and made his way to the front door.

"Ah, Crash," said a male voice. "There you are."

Billy froze in place at the voice. Like cold fingers sliding down his neck.

He revolved on his heel, wary eyes on the dim space.

Crash saw no one, but knew who lurked nearby.

"Was waitin for you to get unlost," Calvin continued. "Coco said you'd come through about what, half hour, an hour ago?"

"Uh…Yeah." Billy plodded back through the foyer as if sand bags weighed his steps. Halting at the foot of the stairs, his head swerved about the space, heartbeat sluggish in his chest.

"Hey, no skin off my nose." A shift wrinkled from the muted parlor as Candie emerged. A flute of golden liquid in hand, he swished it, ice cubes clinking against the glass. "This sweet girl kept me company."

Burgundy sleep robes flowed over his feet, and he eased into the parlor on languid steps. Billy's fingers flexed around his boots as Calvin neared him. Calvin turned abruptly, though, sliding off toward the windows. Reaching them, he tugged at some shutters, revealing the black world outside, hard clear raindrops beating the glass.

"Rainin' good out there, aint it?" Calvin asked, sipping his drink.

"Getting there," Billy said. He rocked on a sole, debatin whether to fuss the boots to his feet, act like he wasn't just casually carrying them around. But if anything, Calvin already saw, so doing that now might look worse.

After a long swig of drink, he said "No matter. It always fall hard, but when it's out, it's out."

Calvin jerked the shutters close with a snap, loose sleeves falling back from his forearm. He turned, cocking his chin to the parlor.

"Join me for some dessert," he said. "Got Cora to make some white cake. A favorite. Got honey in the batter."

Billy's lips thinned.

"Sounds good."

Calvin detached from the window, his drink gone but still stirring the ice cubes about.

"Then let's eat cake."

Billy's shoulders flanked as Calvin passed him. Gradually, they lowered, and he shuffled in after him. Strange how following could feel like trial, execution, funeral. When Billy plopped down across from Calvin at the little table, dessert was served.

It was the worse white cake Billy never tasted. And how could he? Each bite consumed in swallows, the frosting lumping in his throat. Still, he nearly finished it all alone, cutting off hearty slices as Calvin talked, talked and talked.

Talked of everything but the elephant swinging it's trunk over their heads.

By the time they finished off the cake –or more so Crash– and Calvin drained all topics known to Southern men, Billy felt as if he'd run a full lap around Candieland: exhausted, sweaty and with the desire to never eat again.

The remains of the devoured cake sat between them, A clear plate smeared in white frosting, left among the maple-colored crumbs.

"Suppose you was hungry," Calvin said, eying the plate.

"Suppose I was." His stomach curdled and he put an arm around it, grimaced.

"See, that's why you gotta pace yourself," Calvin said. He licked the creamed remains off his fork. "Get overstuffed, it gonna hurt."

"I know how to eat," Billy groused, unfolding his legs from the table_. _

_What he think I am, a kid? I'm a grown man…and __a hungry one, dammit._

Calvin dabbed his lips with a linen cloth, brows flickering once before settling.

"Yes," he said, setting down his fork. It clanked against his cleared dish. "I'm quite certain you do."

Calvin shook a bell and two slaves shuffled in to clear the plates. Seeing escape, Billy hauled himself from the chair.

"Well, it's late. Think imma head back to the lodge now. See ya tomorrow."

Calvin pulled out of his seat.

"You going out in the storm'?" He said, and angled his hand in a general direction. "You'll get drenched out there. Might catch a cold."

"The rain don't bother me." Billy crooked over to collect the boots he'd still failed to get on his feet, heat crawling up his neck. Still, he pretended as if it were a natural thing, havin your boots off for no apparent.

"If you insist," Calvin said.

"I do. G'night." Crash dropped his chin and left Calvin behind, scuffling out of the parlor until he reached the front door.

Opening it, warm drifts of rain sprayed his face. He winced, but didn't mind it. Warm or not, the spray was many times cooler than his body, which had got to boilin' hot during that "Chat."

He woulda preferred a tellin' off, a simple warning, any of that to a long-winded talk on everything and nothing. He hadn't mentioned the deal in the fields and he hadn't mentioned the girl. Obviously Calvin was having too much fun not mentioning it, refused to free the cat out the bag just yet. That man enjoyed twistin' Crash up in wait, weaving loops and curls before he told things straight.

_In due time_, Billy thought, stepping across the platform.

Until then, he'd watch his back. His own and Yvette's.

"Crash?"

Locking up, Billy looked back to Calvin. He leaned against the doorway, rain drops darkening his sleep robe in speckles.

"Make sure you put on them boots before you get too far," he said. A grin curled to his face. "Them sugarcanes get sharp."

* * *

**Author's Note:**

A ha. You didn't think I would update so fast, did you? T'was only because I was naughty and worked on this twice in a row. Thus leaving my other fan fic neglected at the risk of the insistent PM's saying where the heck are you…so! Guilty as charged and in need to serve my time, I'll be working on my other fic a tad more before I get to updating _A Sweet Craving_ again. So not sure when that'll be. Soon enough? I probably gave you all a lot to digest though.

_**Le Steam:**_

So this was the question I wanted to ask: how much "steam" do you feel is just right? Was this chapter a good model of what you'd like to see? I mean of course nothing is going to just be "thrown" in pointlessly, but I'd like to know what is tasteful and what isn't. Or if you trust me to just go with it, that's good too.

Otherwise, tell me what you think on this. Plus the chapter/story direction in general! I delight to hear it :]]

Ta ta for now,

_~Yellowspotlight89 _


	15. Table Manners

**Chapter 15:**

Table Manners

* * *

_**We can fight our desires, but when we start making fires, we get ever so hot, whether we like it or not. They say we can love who we trust, but what is love without lust?**_

Yvette walked into the room and wanted out at once. Wanted to slide back into the hall, grab hold of the knob and seal the big gold doors before her. Instead, her feet locked in place, her hands dropped to her sides, and those big gold doors were already wide open.

Much like her eyes.

There were places Yvette knew men and women to touch. Closed quarters for one, not in a somewhat public "Mandingo" room with a sprinkling of people in wake. An instant flush shot to Yvette's skin with mere thoughts of last evening. Surely, if others had witnessed her private behaviors with Billy, she would have melted into a puddle.

But Sheba wasn't Yvette, was she?

Spread across Monsieur Candie's lap, the woman was long, languid, and undeniably not a puddle. As Calvin mapped the hill of her hip, a climb and descent requiring all five fingers, she purred like a Persian. Though if the smile was indication, make that a happy Persian.

Familiar strain build at Yvette's brow.

In recent days, she'd felt a lot. The quickening of her pulse when Calvin came upon her in the carriage, warm breaths meeting but lips left cold. A hollow hunger lying with Billy in bed, the constant press of his arousal a taste of what did not but could have.

Still, Yvette didn't want cold; she wanted heat. Yvette didn't want taste; she wanted a bite. Of both men.

This was a problem. With the constant tug towards one man, the insistent draw towards the other, an inner voice demanded _choose_ while she asked _how_? Thus the headaches that plagued her all day.

Surely, being a slave shouldn't allot such choices.

Surely, this was all _their _fault.

And just when she thought the pressure loosed, energy focused on performing duties at the Cleopatra Club, the headache was back. Throbbing, persisting.

Born from watching Calvin with his rightful woman.

This was a new sort of pressure.

In an earth brown suit, Candie's kingly stature somehow made it look suggestive of diamonds. And Sheba, garbed in fuchsia, wore enough diamonds at the ears and throat that there need be no mere suggestion of it.

It wasn't fair.

Not the way Yvette felt seeing Sheba on his lap, stroked under that hand, and definitely not the way Sheba watched Yvette watching her, laughter in slanted eyes as if to say ha. Ha. _Ha._

A tide of blood rushed Yvette's ears.

Yvette resented taking the sharp end of the stick for Calvin's wandering eyes and hands. But what did it matter now? He was back where he belonged. With Sheba.

Perhaps he'd never left.

Calvin's attentions to Yvette may well have been a game. Something to keep his legs stretched. And when Yvette turned her cheek to his kiss, he might've realized he didn't want to stretch _that _much.

So that was it.

Yvette had been her master's plaything. Boredom ensued. The game was over.

Somehow, this did nothing for her headache.

As if reading Yvette's discomfort, a mild smile touched Sheba's lips. Chin raised, she wrapped her arms around Calvin's neck, whispered into it. He lowered his face in response, and she leaned up and—

Yvette averted her eyes. To the right a bartender squeak-cleaned mugs. To the left two men jabbed cues across a pool table. A little beyond, a fellow staring into the fireplace. All better sights than watching them do something Calvin had offered but Yvette refused, and now had a bubbling of regret for…

"Eeevette?"

Yvette's head snapped forward, back to the couch where they were.

Calvin stared at her.

"Hello, Monsieur," Yvette said, stepping out from the doorway.

So now he decided to note her existence? She was so flattered.

"Didn't see you income," he said.

"…Income." Was that another southern phrase she didn't know about?

Calvin blinked as if to clear his sight, then shook his head.

"No, no, no. I meant _comin_. Didn't see you come in."

_Of course you didn't see me_, Yvette thought. _Too busy kissing Sheba and what have you._

"I arrived a moment ago." She said instead.

"You was just here alla sudden. Lika…" Calvin's voice sloped off before returning in thunder. "Lika fairy!"

Yvette's brow knit together.

"I suppose I came in pretty quietly—"

"Poof!"

When irregular laughter stuttered from Candie's mouth – sudden and grating– Yvette slid back some steps. Something was…off about him tonight. He often lingered near a laugh or joke, but with a bit more coherency than this. Plus, his voice and gaze kept wandering off. Confused, unfocused.

As abrupt as it began, the laugh cut off.

"Where you goin' fairy?"

Yvette stopped in her backslide as Calvin curled a finger toward her.

"Come flutter on ova here."

After some mental bracing, Yvette crossed the short distance. She wasn't sure what was wrong with him, but it couldn't be dangerous.

"Hmm." Sheba said, loosening her arms from Calvin's neck. Her magenta-stained scowl showed exactly how she felt about Yvette breaking their party of two.

A smile lopped Monsieur Candie's face, revealing burgundy-washed teeth._ Eek. _Surely that wine bottle on the table wasn't decoration. On the bright side, the coloring paired well with the gold brown stains. On an even brighter side, his mouth now watched the walls.

"Anif the fairy aint all dolled up in white," Calvin said, head cocked to the side. Yvette's stomach tightened as his gaze paddled down her body. "Would ya look at that dress. Pretty. Aint it, Suga?"

Sheba, who'd set her head on Calvin's thigh, gradually righted from her lounge.

"Pretty." Her eyes slinked over Yvette and left disapproval in its trail. "A pretty fur ball, you mean."

Tensed, Yvette looked down on her attire. She'd picked this dress because, unlike Coco's suggestions, its full sleeves clothed the arms. Considering the bruise darkening her shoulder, Yvette needed coverage. And despite all the ruffled layers, it wasn't furry, thank you very much. Besides, she liked ruffles.

Eyes narrowed, Yvette began to politely defend her fashion when Calvin's all consuming laugher erupted.

"Ah, come now Sheeepa."

He took Sheba's cheeks in hand and squished up her features. With a snort, Sheba pried off his grip. Irritation crossed her face, but she cleared it fast.

"Stop, silly," she said, her giggle too loud chimes against Yvette's suddenly sensitive earlobes. Sheba traced circles against Calvin's knee, her fuchsia nails vivid against his brown pant. "If you misbehave, I'll have to distract you as I have…_all_ day."

Angling eyes upward, she looked onto Yvette's face. Baiting.

Refusing to bite, Yvette met the dare with an unmoved expression.

Like those words meant nothing.

Even if it wasn't true, pretending so kept her from notably inappropriate responses, such as scrunching up her nose or sticking out her tongue.

"Aha ha," Calvin stammered out, eyes pounced low. "And whata fine distracterer you are."

Hand stumbling across the table, he widely missed the wine before latching on.

"Soo," Calvin said, gaze on Yvette. Tipping the bottle, a flow of crimson grazed the side of his glass. "M'sure Coco showed you whatta dohure?"

"Um…" Yvette stepped back as liquid splashed against the glass table, coming forward again when Sheba righted his glass. "No, Monsieur. She got busy."

When Yvette arrived at the Cleopatra Club with Coco, meant to replace her presence as candy stander-by, their way had been stalled by Coco catching notice of her friend Selie. After Coco introduced them, the two club girls got to squealing and bouncing through gossip. Unable to speak squawk and bounce, Yvette had set off to the Mandingo room herself.

She already had doubts about the role.

"Natta problem!" Calvin's knee bumped the small table as he rose. "I'll show ya."

Waddling out of his seat, his lift poured Sheba poured off his lap. The woman dropped to the cushions with a huff. Arms crossed, she was a furious woman in fuchsia.

Yvette smirked, then felt mean for it. She didn't aim to delight in Sheba's displeasure. Still, after the little dangle-the-Master act, the itch was there, so she scratched.

Seeming to forget the drink he'd just poured, Calvin plucked up the wine bottle. He took one mighty swig then swiped his mouth on his sleeve. It left a dark purple smear on his cuff. Yvette winced as housekeeping instincts urged to blotch it off.

Rounding the table, he tottered near her in loose steps. Yvette locked in place to resist backing up. Then air, coming out of nowhere, caught Calvin's last few steps. He stumbled against Yvette. Panicked, she thrust hands out to his shoulders just as Candie caught his slack weight on her waist.

"Are you…fine, Monsieur?" Yvette asked, wondering more for his mental health than body.

"Mmfine." Calvin used her sides to draw them both straight. "I am perfectedly fine."

"Well that's…fine." She let her hands fall from his shoulders, but Calvin held tight to her waist. He dragged her closer to his body. His form flush against hers, she could feel his every point and ridge. And it was one of those ridges that had her heart missing beats.

"Lemmetellyouasecret," He said, words flowing out in a rush. A loud rush.

"Okay…" Yvette said, chewing her lip. "Why not."

She could think of a couple of reasons why not, but it wouldn't matter. Candie already leaned in, his chin dropped near her shoulder.

"When I said your dress was pretty," He shout-whispered to her and inevitably the whole room. "I meant you was pretty."

Nervous, Yvette glanced over his shoulder. The pool players had turned but abruptly turned away. Sheba did not look away. She stared right at them, lips hovering over Calvin's neglected glass of wine.

"That is a…mighty secret," Yvette murmured.

Pulse pounding, she slipped out from Calvin's hold.

But he wouldn't have it, and caught her waist before she got far.

"Don't tell Sheepa," he warned, still too loud. "She gotta little green in her eye for you."

The woman's gaze fell low, so low that lashes twitched at her cheeks like jerky spider legs. Anxiety stressed Yvette's stomach.

"I know you won' tell." Calvin continued, grape breath stark at her ear. "You good at keepin secrets, aint ya?"

Yvette couldn't think to answer that; Sheba was a much bigger concern.

Placing down her glass, the woman rose from the sofa. She slipped around the table, then drifted towards Yvette and Calvin in a flow of slinking, frightening fabric.

Swept up beside them, she had a hand to her hip, her heel tapping against the floor. _Click, clack, click._

Calvin followed the foot to the face, and those loopy eyes got a little less loopy. Even in his state, he knew the difference peaceful woman and bloodthirsty woman.

"Hi, Suga bear," Candie said. Hands slipping from Yvette, he staggered towards Sheba.

Sheba shoved a finger to his chest. He slumped against it, blinking.

"It's time you got a clear drink you," she said.

Leaving Calvin to slump, Sheba glared down her nose at Yvette. Yvette firmed her form, refusing to shrink away from the tall, elegant woman.

"The candy," Sheba said, switching her neck toward the front wall. "Is that way. Go'n and be a slave over there_._"

Yvette flinched, like she'd been stung. And she had.

Yvette had quickly learned Sheba was no slave. The woman cracked no nails, broke no sweat, and apparently, pulled no punches. These freedoms came with sharing the Master's bed. A freedom she fought to protect at any expense.

Sisterhood was no factor.

With a curtsy that nearly sent her head to her knees, Yvette meet Sheba's glare, fire backing her eyes. "Right away, _Mademoiselle_."

As Sheba pulled in sharp breath, Yvette turned on her heel. Surely she recognized the difference between Madame and Mademoiselle.

Perhaps Yvette was too bold, but perhaps she didn't care.

Let Sheba think her a threat. Heck, with the way Calvin still had happy hands for her, she might be.

Yvette yelped when her dress hem caught in her shoe. Face burning, she marched on. Maybe this thing did have too many ruffles. Reaching the wall, she seized the bowl topping the dispenser and set it under. Teal, red, and white candies spilled down, some stray ones bouncing to the floor.

With a filled candy bowl set, she faced the room again. Noticing her trembling hands, Yvette released a steadying breath. She needed to settle down. Perhaps this "slave work" would be a good distraction. But whom to serve first?

The men at the pool table, one she recognized as Butch, looked more in a grunt and grouse than a sweet tooth mood. She didn't wish to disturb the man by the fireplace, either. Hat set on his face, he must've been resting. Plus, she felt wary of that area. She imagined walking the floors, the blood from slave fights coming to life underfoot and staining her white ruffles red.

With no other option, Yvette headed toward the bar. Monsieur Candie was there, along with _Mademoiselle_ Sheba.

"Give him a water." She ordered the bartender.

The bartender poured a glass then slid it across the counter.

"Don't gimme no damn water, damn it!" Calvin batted his hands at the offering and nearly tipped off his stool.

"Monsieur?" Yvette intercepted.

Candie spun around in his seat. Sheba turned too, drawing closer to his side.

"Yesss fairy?" He asked, staring into her face. Yvette couldn't tell if Calvin had an extreme concentration to the tip of her nose or was about to loop into sleep.

Ignoring Sheba's glare, Yvette gave a short dip.

"Would you like some candy?" she asked.

A grin crossed his face.

"Whyus." Sliding a hand across the counter top, Calvin dragged the glass of water forward and sealed it in his grip. "But mah hands are full. Feed me?"

Yvette almost sighed. Surely no one could be this clever drunk. Yvette glanced from bowl to Calvin, debating if she should comply or perhaps suggest something he un-fill his hand.

Sheba came forward and snatched the bowl in her long fingers.

"I'll do it," she said, piercing Yvette with a look reserved for insolent children.

Heat flared in Yvette's chest. Sheba still wasn't playing nice. Well, she couldn't be docile then. If Yvette gave a little, Sheba would use her as a platform. Well footprints wouldn't go well with ruffles.

"Allow me," Yvette said, seizing the bowl again before Sheba could react. "I am the slave, after all."

As Sheba glowered at her, Yvette vaguely noticed Calvin watching it with a certain sort of glee. With the jumping foot and frequent glances between her and Sheba, he looked to be rather enjoying himself.

After a moment, Sheba's frown lost its fire. Chin locked and raised, she uttered, "Work then."

Surprised the woman gave in, Yvette came forward.

She grasped a few candies as she rounded the side of Calvin not guarded by Sheba. Breath held, Yvette brought the sweets to Calvin's waiting lips. The moment her fingers neared his mouth, those lips were against her fingers. His tongue slipped out to seize the candy.

"Mmm." Watching her face, his tongue came out again, lapping sugary powder from her fingers. "Fairy dust."

Heat shocked Yvette's belly. It travelled lower and lower, expanding into a full blown heat.

"Thank you," he said, pulling his lips away, eyes deep as flat eyes got.

"Y-You're welcome." Drying the fingers in her dress folds, she slid back, unsteady.

The look Calvin gave her somehow combined drunk with clear-headed control.

"Come closer," he said. His gaze dropped past her chin, surveying her chest. "I have another secret that involve everything but that dress."

Startled, another warm shock hit her, but it drained fast.

Yvette had met scary women, but Sheba had to be the scariest.

Her brow twitching in spasms, a slight smile filling her lips, her dark eyes were calm. Graveyard calm.

"Calvin." She said, sliding into his lap. His eyes turned up at her. Clasping fingers over his hand, Sheba guided his cup to his mouth. "Drink your water."

"Ssssshhhh." Candie pushed a finger to her lips. "Stop saying that."

"Drink your water," Sheba repeated. Taking his hand away, she brought it down to her thigh. "And I'll give you a taste of me."

"I've hadda lot of you today," Calvin murmured.

Sheba pinned him under her stare.

He hiccupped.

"But have you had enough?"

Calvin stared, Sheba leaned, and Yvette clutched her candy bowl.

The bartender wiping glass, cues meeting holes, everything fell into backdrop as Yvette watched, front row view, as Sheba kissed Calvin Candie.

Her mouth engulfed his, full and deep, her lips in constant, languid motion. And Calvin was no passive receiver. Grunts mumbled from his lips, a hand locked at her neck, taking her deeper.

Yvette squeezed the bowl in her hands to the point of pain. And no matter how she demanded her feet move, her eyes to turn, she couldn't look away.

It took much too long for their lips to part, and only when Sheba dropped his chin did Yvette feel released.

_Why am I even here?_ She asked herself, eyes cast down.

She'd kidded herself, believing she was a threat to this woman.

Yvette could never talk like her, move like her, _kiss _like her.

_If Sheba's queen in this place_, Yvette thought, backing from the bar, _then I'm hardly a lady-in-waiting. _

Yvette had only crossed the other side when Calvin's exclaim froze her still.

"Amerigo!" he said. He still sounded breathy from the kiss. "You been sittin' quiet ova there for too too long."

The hat tumbled off the man's face as the shoulders unset. Twisting in his seat, he scrubbed his eyes.

"No worry," he said, speaking in a heavy, rolling accent. "I am quite content here."

"No, no, no!" Calvin said. "Get over here."

"Yes," Sheba abandoned Calvin's lap, wearing a smirk aimed too far left to be directed at the guest. "Join us."

_Couldn't have been that good_, Yvette thought, refusing to indulge her stare. Some time ago, Yvette had tasted Calvin's alcohol-laced kiss. A whole bottle transmitted through the lips couldn't possibly satisfy to the level of smug on Sheba's face.

"If you so insist, Candie. Ms. Sheba."

With a heave, the man hauled himself from the couch. He moved in a sluggish way, thick shoulders hunched, feet dragging. The moment he paused near the bar, Yvette noticed his hands. White gloves suited them, stark against his black attire.

"Hey!" Calvin said, glancing between Yvette and the man. Tipping his glass, the water slouched violently. "You ain't been introduced, have ya? Amerigo—Yvette. Yvette, Amerigo."

She didn't think Calvin was restored just yet, but at least he said her name without dragging the beginning.

Amerigo gave a short bow.

"Pleasant to meet you, Yvette."

Yvette eyed him carefully.

"Pleasure to meet you, sir."

She remembered this man.

When she'd first met Calvin, kissed within minutes after the fact, he'd released her so suddenly that she tripped into his crowd of guests. It'd been this man whose body stopped her. He'd laughed right in her ear before throwing her back towards Calvin.

Yvette studied him. The man's eyes were a ghostly blue, striking against the severe, natty-haired face. Strange, how he reminded her of Billy. Yvette pulled upright again, still curious as to why he reminded her of him.

"She speak French!" Calvin blurted, stumbling off his stool. "And since you Italian, it's like ya'll smooching cousins."

Yvette's brow puckered at that, while Amerigo chuckled, hand slapping his knee. His light laugh unsettled her. Such solid features shouldn't make such soft noises.

"They are close languages, sì," he said. "But not exactly smooching, as you say."

Calvin looked to argue, but someone interrupted.

"Excusez-moi, Monsieur. Everyone," Coco stood at the doorway, accompanied with Selie. Paired next to each other, they looked near identical, wearing the same large bow, spherical dress, and fluffed hair. Selie had a richer tone of brown to her skin, though, her posture more subdued than dress tip-clutching Coco. "Dinner service will begin now."

Dropping their cues directly, the pool playing men filed out the door. Perhaps they'd had enough of this loopy room. Yvette didn't blame them.

"Oh, good!" said Calvin. "Bout time I got somethin solid in my stomach."

"Wisest thing you said all night," Sheba muttered as she slid an arm around him.

Coco slipped out the door, though Selie scuttled towards them at the bar.

"Signor Vessepi?" She stretched out a coat to Amerigo. He shook his head.

"We will not be leaving," he said. "I've not had my boy matched."

Selie bowed her head then left.

After that, silence hit the air. Puzzled, Yvette wondered and looked about. Then she caught a look of Calvin. His whole countenance had changed. A smile had once curved his mouth and he'd been twitching with energy. Now, teeth trapped his upper lip, a cold cloud coverage over his eyes, and he wasn't moving at all. He was ice.

Yvette felt a chill.

"No, you has not." Calvin said, fingers so tight against his water glass that Yvette feared he'd crush it to pieces. "Appears by Dingo man is late."

With furrowed brows, Calvin shoved the water across the bar. The glass screeched before spilling. The bartender fumbled to seize the rolling cup before it dropped over edge.

And just like that, the cold front disappeared. Monsieur freed his lip, the cloud coverage passed, and the ice melted into liquid posture.

"Ah well!" Calvin exclaimed, clapping his hands. "You mightas well get your fill as you wait."

Calvin took a waddling step, staying upright with Sheba's arm to catch him. From there he passed by Yvette. The lingering look he gave her made her heart jump. At that, he flipped his chin, entered the hall, and left the room behind.

Yvette concluded that Calvin was an angst-ridden soul who should never, ever drink. He was complicated enough sober.

"It appears we've been abandoned." Amerigo said.

Yvette gave a vague nod.

"Appears so."

What in the world was that look Calvin left her on? It struck her as contempt…

Fingers flexed around the candy bowl, Yvette considered her next move. Coco said Yvette's position allowed her to eat with Calvin and the others. Still, she wasn't sure how comfortable she'd feel among that man and all his guests. Yvette looked to the bartender, shaking his balding head as he wiped down the counter. Maybe _he_ needed some company. They could complain about Monsieur Candie over wine.

"I would be honored to escort you to dinner, Yvette." Amerigo said, extending an elbow.

Yvette's eyes drew to the man.

Well, there was that option.

Amerigo seemed kind enough. Unlike their first meeting, he seemed polite, gentlemanly. Yvette supposed there was no harm in proceeding with him. Perhaps a better idea than drinking wine and becoming tragic like Calvin.

Setting the candy bowl on the bar top, Yvette took a step to Amerigo's side.

"Please," she said, looping her wrist through his arm.

…

_Too white,_ Yvette thought as they entered the dining room. Too white, and certainly too polished. But no wonder. Chandeliers peaked the ceiling, their crystals capturing the candlelight and sifting pallid glow over the space. Though for a room so white, there was a lot of brown in it.

It was a surreal picture: white men and black women together. Talking, _touching_. From an array of circular tables, the males gave hooded looks to females, adorned in tight-clutching gowns, heavy jewelry, cool smiles.

Yvette wondered when this world would stop surprising her, certain the answer was never.

Starting off from the doorway, Amerigo led Yvette toward room's center. There, seated at the long table gowned in cream cloth, was Calvin's party.

There were faces she didn't recognize and a pocketful she did: Coco, Selie, Leonide, Butch, Sheba…then, of course, the man himself. Set at the head, he had another drink in hand. Sheba sat to his left, looking none too pleased with anyone's existence. When someone called to Calvin, him looking over, Sheba shot down his drink. She supplemented it with water.

An executive decision, noted Yvette.

Yvette and Amerigo approached two empty seats near the end. Coco and Selie, seated across, glanced up.

"Yvette! Come sit by…" Coco's eyes drifted to Amerigo's arm, linked on hers. "Never mind."

"I apologize," said Amerigo. "But I must steal your friend for the night."

Coco giggled, a grin rounding her cheeks. Yvette plastered on a smile, though eased her wrist from Amerigo. She accompanied him because he was friendly, lest she _or _he think otherwise.

Yvette slid into the chair he offered. She thanked him as she flattened her skirts to the low-backed chair.

"My pleasure." he said. As he pulled into a seat at her left, doors burst open. A line of black men filed in, balancing covered dishes.

Calvin slapped a palm against his empty plate, jostling the table.

"Fooooooood!"

The room chortled as servers weaved between the tables.

"I must infer he is hungry," Amerigo said.

Yvette smirked.

"That's also my impression."

As servers uncovered dishes, succulent scents wafted from the steam. With wide-eyes, Yvette watched the men plate red-bodied lobsters, candied breads, and stirred salads to the tables. As her plate was filled, Yvette set a hand to her gurgling stomach. Cold Candieland leftovers weren't as hearty as this, nor was these foods like a humble Belisle meal.

Focused down the table, Yvette watched Sheba stuff a cloth napkin into Calvin's neckline. If he ate as messily as he'd walked and talked tonight, it was a sensible idea. Calvin dumped down his water-laced drink, smiling wide.

"Dig in!" He said, waving his lobster by the tail.

Lively cheer answered as everyone set off on their plates. Conversation combined with the crack of lobster bodies, the bubbling of poured drinks, and all the while Calvin's boisterous voice continuously jerked Yvette's shoulders and attention.

As he looked out and conversed with guests, Yvette felt sore. It seemed his eyes went right over her head, not even nearing her end of the table.

Yvette recalled the scorned look he flashed her. If anyone should feel scorned, it was her, who had to watch him bury his face into Sheba's. But after all his talk of pretty dresses and taking them off, _he _was mad? Yvette shouldn't be surprised. This was Ice Man after all. He was so cold, he burned.

Yvette liked him better when he burned.

She recalled all too clearly the glide of his tongue when he licked her fingers. They felt damp just thinking about it. Yvette shifted her legs when she felt warmth between them. Embarrassment hit her. It wasn't the time to recall this.

Seeking distraction, Yvette studied the various forks and spoons laid before her. She felt overwhelmed by them until noticing the table setting was like the Belisle manor; French style. Relieved, she seized her seafood fork.

Her focus eased across the room as she ate. Here she was, a slave, dining among these whites as if they were equals. This should make her nervous, but she slipped under the noise and commotion comfortably. It was surreal –all of it– but no one wore looks of shock or disgust. It was as if this was natural. Not just a dream after all.

Yvette spoke with Coco and Selie occasionally, but slipped out of the conversation when the girls' talk whirled into things she didn't know about. And for all Yvette's dining experience, she didn't need them. Just a short glance around proved the silverware was show; people used the utensil of convenience, if they bothered with them at all. Yvette felt a little awkward switching her fork between the salad and seafood. Then she noticed Amerigo did the same.

"So I'm not alone," she murmured.

Amerigo's lips twitched.

"I suppose we have more similarities than tongues."

Yvette gave a nod, focused back on eating.

The male servers stood against walls, striding forward to replenish drinks and stir more greens and vegetables into salads. After having her salad filled with cherry tomatoes and diced eggs, Yvette felt a prickling at her neck.

She looked over, noting Amerigo's attention. He looked on her with a cheek resting on a gloved knuckle.

"May I ask," he said, once she set down her fork. "How you learned French?"

Yvette swallowed a bit of salad before answering.

"I was raised on it at my former home," she said, "Alongside English."

Amerigo pulled up from his knuckle.

"Truthfully?" he looked off, thoughts spacious. "What a marvel."

Lettuce lumped in Yvette's throat. People spoke both French and English every day. But if a Negro girl could, it was a wide-eyed wonder?

"And which do you prefer?" Amerigo continued.

Irritation bubbled in her as she decided to ignore him. She didn't feel like entertaining his superior inquiries.

_Play nice_, she told herself. Wasn't it her job? Like the rest of the black women, she was supposed to keep the white men happy. She'd have to comply.

"I don't prefer one language over the other." Yvette said. "They're two different worlds."

Amerigo's smile was frail.

"I understand too well, though I meant which life comforts you most. This?" he asked, sweeping a hand over the white, glossy room. "Or your former dwellings, which I suspect are nothing like it."

The simple question was not so simple.

On one hand, Yvette liked her former life. The Belisle farm was comfortably secure, a delusion time abruptly dissolved. But wasn't this a new fantasy of its own?

As green of a slave that she was, Yvette knew her experiences in Mississippi were uncommon. Likely because Candieland was uncommon.

Yvette peered over at Calvin. He still socialized unstably, giving the far end of the table his back. The fact that she might even expect a pleasant look (when he wasn't playing tragic, affronted soul) was some sort of fantasy in itself. Though the way he'd eyed her body, sucked at her fingers…that wasn't a mirage.

Nor was the fact that, despite two close calls to punishment one should expect as a Negro upsetting whites, Yvette was spared both times. The first instance by her master's work hand, the second time by the Master himself.

That left the other palm to deal with: since being thrust into Billy Crash's hands and then passed into Candie's, she couldn't stop thinking about either male. Softly, fondly, fixatedly…

If the Belisles' were still alive, would she even want to leave Calvin and Billy behind? Could she?

Amerigo's question was very not-simple, indeed.

"I had family there," was all she said. Had. The past. Remembrances recalled, her gut softened. She couldn't quite let it go yet. Even if busyness distracted her, there were always those moments when the grief returned.

Always tinged with the fear. Of being hurt again, crated again. This thinking led to those impious trances that overtook her at night. The ones that started since Monday, when Billy came into her room, asking for entrance. She'd welcome him in, only to find he wasn't…

Amerigo's gruff tone pulled her out of the depths she found herself wallowing toward.

"I see," he said. "And now you make new family."

Yvette shoulders pulled in, an unsure motion. When she looked at him, she saw it. Saw why Amerigo recalled thoughts of Crash. They had the same eyes. Both hard and guarded gazes, but with something else there, tending to something deep and dark inside.

Yvette worked her lip. What had Crash seen to put those deep, dark thoughts in his eyes? One thing was for sure; Billy Crash was a serious man with serious feelings.

Billy wished for Yvette to be his and only his. The depths of that emotion both intrigued and worried her. For while she trusted he'd keep her safe, she could not be only his. Not when Calvin still had sharp eyes on her. And not when her own eyes couldn't decide where to steady on...

A bottle hissed nearby, but it was Amerigo's guttural throat clear that shook her out of fancy land.

"We should make toast." He said, wielding a wine bottle. Brimming her flute with drink, he did the same with his own.

"To what?" Yvette asked, seizing her glass. She looked around her table. Calvin babbled with a full mouth, Sheba suckled on her lobster tail, and the folks munching and chatting at the tables showed identical stories. "Table manners?"

"Perhaps that," Amerigo said, his chuckle light.

Yvette thought a moment, still unsure why he wished to toast.

But the cool droplets against her fingers tempted her, and she felt the need to wet her mouth.

"To table manners, then." she said.

Amerigo raised his glass and, tentatively, Yvette met it.

They clicked together, amber white liquid sloshing against steep walls. Placing it under her nose, she paused when Amerigo did not. His gaze loomed beyond her shoulder, towards the doors. It wasn't until Yvette turned her head that she noticed the something –or rather the someone– very much worth the distraction.

Yvette's eyes weren't sore, but if they were, they'd have found a cure in Billy Crash.

He leaned against the doorway, shifting in his boots like a rock bothered him. Yvette accidentally noted how handsome he looked, tall and slender in ash-washed jeans, a tucked-in shirt. She also accidentally noticed her thoughts take a desirous tone she hadn't expected.

Yvette knew when Billy saw her. His stiff jaw softened, the hat idly adjusted, his eyes narrowed on her as the tongue grazed his lips…

Heat clutching her cheeks, Yvette faced forward, flustered.

So the lip licking might be new.

She heard rather than saw him entering the space, the heavy drop of boots against polished floors.

The moment was brief but already the imaginings that swarmed her weren't proper for the dinner table. Then again, with all the loose hands and whispers slinking around her, perhaps her stream of thoughts were right at home.

He shouldn't be allowed to do that to her. Make her stomach void, body warm, breathe dampen all at once. Yvette hadn't seen Billy since last night. Since pretending to fall asleep rather than answer his questions.

He'd asked how she felt about him and her. Well, if her tightened belly and fluttering heart were indicators, she felt pretty good about it. He was the friend she'd never expected, but also the lover she didn't want to lose. But then he asked her about Calvin.

She couldn't even try to explain that one.

Whereas her Nice Guy made her feel real nice, it was the Ice Man who mixed hot and cold and somehow made it agonizingly addictive.

Filling her side vision, Billy's steady steps erased far distance into near. The closer he got, the more she realized he not only approached the table, but the very last seats. Where hers was.

_What is he doing?_

Her eyes flew instinctively to Calvin.

"And then the man, the man, he said…" Candie poured a story into Leonide's face while the lawyer nodded till his glasses bobbed off. The story didn't seem to get far beyond a man saying something. Meanwhile, Sheba slipped food between Calvin's gabbing lips. None seemed too keen with the far end of the table, but could get keen any moment…

Alarm fluttered her stomach as Billy slipped behind her seat. He paused there.

"You come late my friend." Amerigo said.

So that's why he came. For Amerigo. Yvette's nerves loosed at those words.

The toast never completed, she set down her drink.

"Ground's muddy," Billy said, his tone rugged. "Hard to ride through."

Amerigo nodded, glass set down as well.

"No matter." Yvette flinched when Amerigo's hand dropped to her shoulder. Grip firm, he squeezed. "With this lovely lady with me, I did not miss you."

Yvette's stomach took a dive.

Luckily, he wasn't touching her bruised shoulder.

Unluckily, he was touching her.

A heated beat passed, then Billy laughed.

Oh dear. Yvette did not trust such laughs. The chair groaned as Billy rested his arms on her headrest. The action was subtle, but Yvette knew the intent. He was guarding her in silence, showing rather than saying.

"Your boy ready?" he asked calmly. So far not deadly. Good.

"Ah, no…" Amerigo snapped his fingers, and Selie stood directly.

"Fetch him, Signor?" she asked between chewing jaws.

"Sì, I left him outdoors." Amerigo pushed up from his seat and blustered out instructions.

Dropping her eyes, Yvette bit into her candied bread. Savoring the sweet taste proved difficult, though, what with the male body hovering above her. Especially when that body's weight deepened on her chair.

"Hey, lovely lady," Billy said, his voice tickling her neck.

"Hi," she breathed. Relaxed at his gentled voice, she slid back in her chair. With no hesitation, Crash's hands slipped over the headrest.

"No wonder he pantin' on you," he said, tugging the ends of her curls. "Got all this gorgeous hair down."

Her stomach fluttered.

"Is that a 'you look nice?'" she asked, feeling oversensitive to the fingers playing with her curls.

"Yes." With a final tug, Billy's hands left her hair, trailing lower. "Very nice."

Yvette's breath hitched as he caressed the small of her back, tracing loose patterns with the pads of his fingers.

Yvette stirred the greens in her salad like she wasn't growing hot head to toe by a man's touches against her back. She was afraid to look around, fearing what set of eyes might be on them.

"Billy…" She said, abashed by how thick her voice sounded.

His chuckle fanned her hair.

"Yvette?" he asked, voice full of false innocence.

Billy's touch slowed to a lazy petting, the pads of his fingertips so light the touch melted through her dress fabric. When he trailed even lower, hands closing in on her rear, a throaty sound begged to slip from her lips.

"_I'll hurt you_," Yvette threatened in French.

Billy paused his hands, still chuckling under breath.

"All right," he said. He didn't obey right away, lingering on her behind before he slid the hands back to where tresses draped against her shoulder blades. Pulling his hands back to the headrest, he murmured, "Just missed touchin you."

Yvette's nerve endings tingled.

Just moments with Crash and already his attentions soothed tender spots. Such as the ones formed watching Sheba reclaim Calvin, as well as the way he still seemed to pointedly ignore where she was.

Amerigo, who'd she hadn't even see leave, came in through the door then. Heading toward the table, he paused at Yvette's chair. It must've been the gathering spot for the night.

"My boy is ready," He said, jerking a broad shoulder back. "He waits in the room."

"Alright." Billy said. With a heave, he detached his arms from Yvette's chair.

Expecting their retreat, she looked over to watch their backs to slip out the door, to take care of whatever boy they meant.

Before this happened, fingers closed around her wrist. Gloved fingers. Yvette looked over shoulder.

"Please forgive me," Amerigo said, looking down at her. "But I must leave for the while."

"You're forgiven," she replied nervously, setting her head down again.

She truly hoped he'd stop touching her, given that a certain man who didn't react well to other men touching her stood by.

Yvette's fork clanged to the table as Amerigo drew up her hand. He led it higher, closer, till it settled near his lips. Her whole body tensed.

"Regardless, I am not done with our conversation," He drawled. Smile simpering, he placed a kiss to her knuckle. "Or you."

Yvette didn't need to see Billy's reaction; she could feel it. Tension radiating off his body in rough, violent waves.

There was a moment in which Amerigo must've read something on Billy's face, for his smile grew smaller and smaller till it thinned into a flat line. Dropping Yvette's hand, Amerigo reached for his drink.

"'Excused my parchedness," he said, eying Billy under a sip. "But the way you look at me, I fear you're ready to practice Mandingo fighting."

Another one of those pauses, then Billy laughed.

Yep. Putting it gently, he was upset. Yvette sighed. Even if Territorial Billy couldn't help his protective ways, she wished he's react more gently. Meaning he'd settle down whatever look he was torturing Amerigo with.

"Nah," he said, voice too easy to be easy. "I don't practice. Just go in for the kill."

Yvette's shoulders lifted a few centimeters. Amerigo might've gulped.

"Ah," Amerigo said after a terse moment. "That is a dingo joke. Very nice."

"Glad you think so." Resting his arms on Yvette's chair again, Billy didn't stop there; he leaned down even further, surrounding her in his shadow. Face curved to the side, he filled her vision. She'd expected it, the zealous blaze in gold green eyes.

Breath dense, Yvette stared at the sun-cracked mouth, the bearded lips. Giving her face the same appraisal, he pressed in closer, aligning their mouths. Her heart tried to escape her chest.

Who knew so many thoughts could fill a few seconds.

_Don't panic. He's going to kiss you._

_Is Calvin staring? _

_Everyone's staring. _

_I'm going to die._

Yvette's eyes shut, toes curled, heart squeezed.

"May I have this?" Billy asked quietly, words brushing her parted lips. She could taste his breath, warm and sweet, as if he'd been chewing on sugarcane.

Perplexed, Yvette's eyes slid open. Reaching out an arm, Crash returned with a small, tart tomato in hand. He popped it between his teeth.

"Thanks," he said. A smirk tugged his juice-moistened lips, and he drew away.

"You comin?" He said, assumingly to Amerigo, already treading a path to the door.

Amerigo stood there, frozen in place, but shook his head after a moment. After a series of clunky steps, he followed after the tall man, the swing in his step an unintentional dance. When she could no longer see them, Yvette shivered. A delayed reaction.

She took back what she'd thought about dying. She needed to kill Billy first.

Spare adrenaline in the blood, she took to her bread with a tremor in hands. Yvette felt hot, caught, but mostly ravenous. Billy's teasing had stirred hungers in her that food couldn't sate. Regardless, she would try.

Though she did wonder if she were truly caught, glancing around her. Those at her table were watching Calvin gesture through another tale, him still paying Yvette no mind. Folks at surrounding tables were involved in their own charades. And Coco was…well.

Coco stared at her.

Of course. How could she forget the girl sitting across from her all this time? She hadn't said a word, somehow had made herself forgettable all that time. Yvette's stomach flipped. Just what had she seen? Heard?

Yvette had hidden her feelings well. Demonstrated a polite disinterest in Billy whenever Coco talked about him over the days, which was often. But none of the things that'd just transpired was disinterested.

"Coco. I'm…" Yvette bit back on her words. She couldn't apologize now. It'd be insincere. Yvette was sorry if she hurt Coco, but she was not sorry for wanting Crash. She was rapidly learning first pick didn't matter much. Just ask Sheba.

Coco's downcast eyes were full and wet, gaining more gloss by the second. Face angled to her plate, she murmured something.

Yvette pulled her lip between teeth.

"Come again?" she asked, leaning in.

"He _lied_," Coco said louder.

Lips pinched, the girl stabbed a particularly crunchy green.

That too familiar pressure built at Yvette's eyebrow. Throbbing, persisting.

Reaching for her glass, Yvette downed her wine.

* * *

**A/N:**

**Limeade **

Well, no one expressed anything against steam.

Actually, it seemed you wanted more. So, on that note, _choooo choooo_. Now, I hesitate to throw in a lemon at least until we arrive at the train station (haha?). But, as for the ride leading there, expect some fluffed up sugar and limes. Ya know, _within_ the plot.

So uhm, I hope you liked this chapter. Tell me what you thought? :3

See ya next update!

~yellowspotlight89


	16. Shame

**Chapter 16:**

Shame

* * *

_**And I'm all mixed up, feeling cornered and rushed. And they say it's my fault, but I want her so much. Wanna fly her away where the sun and the rain come in over my face, wash away all the shame. **_

Billy considered gluing Yvette to his hip, though doing so might pose some difficulty. It wasn't the most practical way to keep her close, bearing in mind he had to walk, ride horses, and things like that. Just seemed whenever he left her alone, he came back to some sorta mess.

Not forgetting Calvin was drunk. The light weight; Billy shoulda known to be wary the other night with him sippin something other than a coconut concoction. Candie just didn't wear his liquor well.

Boots scuffing polished floors, Billy walked the halls of the Cleopatra Cub. With each plod away from the dining room, the urge to go back itched his neck. A real oddity in itself. Since when had Crash ever felt anxious to get back around people?

Ah. Since he got invested in one of those people.

All day felt like a lifetime under plantation sun, and seeing Yvette's face had been an overdue sip of lemonade. Billy didn't want pointless concerns souring that drink. He just didn't like her in a room with a drunk ass Candie. The idea of it, nor the potential of it.

Shaking his head, Crash reminded himself of the clutch Sheba had on Calvin's arm. She wasn't one to let the man sway too far out of line. Plus, with a room at his disposal —prepared to fawn at his tipsy spew—was Calvin even thinking about Yvette?

The fool hadn't even noticed when Billy arrived in the first place, let alone when he stood behind Yvette's chair, touchin and teasing her. Crash relaxed his mounded shoulders as these thoughts relaxed him. So that's that. Calvin was no concern tonight. Yvette was fine where Billy left her.

Especially with the one who _had _been a concern trailing behind Billy. On the way to the main stairs and Crash was leaving Amerigo in the dust of his steps. And why not? Vessepi was grown. He didn't need no escorting.

Still, when Crash reached the staircase, he stopped and waited. Vessepi caught up and Billy swayed a hand for him to go on.

"Thank you, good man." Amerigo said, mounting the steps.

"Yeah," Crash murmured, eying him carefully. With Amerigo heading up, Billy took the moment to get his features neutral. Now wasn't the time to grimace, no matter how thick the sour grapes coated his tongue.

A sense of rivalry towards Amerigo still stirred fresh in Billy's blood.

Arriving to see him seated so close to Yvette should have tripped his alarms. He'd felt a mild disturbance, noting the perfectly good spot beside Coco, though mild turned hot real fast. Billy'd tried to stay easy as Amerigo's flirted with Yvette, but the hand kissin and promise of later conversation...nope. What'd Amerigo possibly have to discuss with her, anyway? Italian poets? French cuisine?

Crash hoped his stop-touching-her-you're-pissing-me-off vibes back there were warning enough. Not done with her, Vessepi had said. Crash ground his jaw. Well what the hell he start with her?

Calvin caused enough stress with his antics as is. Who'd Amerigo think he was, tryna stand between Billy Crash and his woman.

His thoughts slammed to a pause. Woah, boy.

Yvette. This maple-skinned, wide-eyed, French-talkin slave girl. She was his _woman_ now?

"My woman," Crash murmured, deciding to try the words aloud.

Hmm. He liked the taste of that on his mouth. It cleared up some of that sour with something clean.

Heaving a sigh, Billy mounted the steps. He'd save the claim games for later. Right then, he had a man waitin and a dingo to inspect.

At late Crash had let his soft spot for Yvette make the decisions. This present business had no room for softness. Completing the climb, Billy footed the ways to the dingo room and shoved inside the dusky space.

Amerigo stood against the far wall with his poufy-dress wearing slave gal beside him. Billy couldn't understand those damn balloonin things. Regardless, he nodded, Vessepi returned it and his girl curtsied. See? Crash could play well with others. Clambering close, Billy saw the Dingo slouched by the fireplace. Buck-eyed, he gawked at the blood-splotched flooring,.

Crash dropped onto the couch's armrest. He'd waste no time.

"How many fights you won?" He asked, peering at the Negro.

The shaven head whipped up.

"None," the Negro rasped. "Nev' fight."

Crash shot a glance at Amerigo.

"You tellin me you got this boy here gon' fight one of Calvin's…"

"No no no," Amerigo stepped forward. "Never fought, but he can wrestle. Very good at wrestle."

Amerigo hoisted the slave's muscle-ridged arms.

"With the choke hold on him, the fighting will come naturally."

_Ridiculous. _The word tipped Billy's teeth, but he looked away before betraying repulsion. Choose a different Negro, he wished to utter. Let the boy get seasoned before tossin him to his death. But the last time Billy gave odd-leveling advice to a Candieland opponent, Calvin_ forgot_ to pay him that week.

Wasn't worth it, and Crash sure as hell couldn't afford it.

He jerked his chin at the unlearned Negro.

"Stand up."

The Negro heaved off the floor, all his weight slouched. Amerigo swatted the boy's shoulders and his posture ironed out.

"Name?"

Billy had a habit of asking. Not the wisest habit, especially knowing those Negro names would settle under his skin once they was dead.

"Marcello, Suh," the boy answered.

"All right, Marcello."

Crash continued his inspection. Skin brown as baked beans. standard height. Thick form padded in muscle. Even with the trousers sagging off his thighs, one could see that. Wasn't long before Crash had an opponent in mind: Rodney.

Not as muscled as this Marcello, the sharp-eyed dingo was slippery and swift. One thing Crash knew about fightin was that you didn't have to be strongest to win. Just needed quickness of body and mind. Rodney had both.

Finished, Crash propped up a thumb.

"Good, good."

Amerigo snapped fingers and his girl stepped out of the circle and motioned the boy over. Marcello rustled toward her, shuffling like death already had him by the ankles. The slaves exited.

Silence hung for a beat. The kind that burdens the air when there's too much to say but not enough means to address it.

All business aside, the dining room incident reclaimed prominence in Billy's mind. And from the clicking wheels passing Amerigo's eyes, Crash didn't think himself alone.

Not knowing Yvette was off-limits hadn't spared Amerigo from Billy's aggression. Though whether Crash had a grudge to spare depended on this fellow's intentions.

"I shall have a drink," Amerigo announced. He started away from the area. "Join me?"

Curious to see how this'd go, Billy pushed off the furniture. Amerigo moved toward the bar at a frail pace, causing Crash to grudgingly mute his strides. The day'd gone slow and this was making it slower.

After about 150 years of walking, Billy plopped down into a bar stool as Amerigo slid into the neighboring one.

"Tequila, if you please." Vessepi said as the Negro bartender Rosko made his way to the front of the bar.

He looked to Billy.

"Mead."

"Right away, Suhs."

Rosko turned to fill their orders.

"So you're a mead man." Amerigo said. "Never knew."

Billy shrugged.

"I like one here and there."

Liquids flowed, one mellow-filled shot glass, one mug brimmed with liquid gold. Both reached for their respective poisons.

Raising the honey brew to his mouth, Billy took a slurp. The mead tingled on the way down his throat. Wiping his mouth, Crash set down the mug.

"Good batch?" Vessepi asked, angling a white-suited finger toward the glass.

Licking his moist lips, Crash replied, "Thick and rich."

"I think I'll try one." Amerigo fluttered a hand at Rosko and used the other to down his tequila.

Crash slurped his drink. The mead warmed the belly and spread fuzziness through his brain.

"You are right. This is a good drink," Amerigo said, tipping his mug of mead.

"Mm huh." Billy lifted his own to his lips.

Crash wasn't in a kick-around-the-can mood. The Candie Man's constant evasions tired him out from all that. If Amerigo had words for Billy, he preferred he got them out quick.

"Is she good at sex?"

Billy coughed as the mead slammed his lungs. Damn. Not that quick. clapping down the mug, he beat against the liquor blaze in his chest.

"'Scuse me?"

"The girl you favor," Amerigo said, taking a leisurely sip of mead. "I ask if she is good at sex."

The liquor left the lungs to burn the stomach.

"And why the hell you need to know?"

Billy didn't give one fuck for whatever role Calvin set Yvette in tonight. If Vessepi thought to knock knees with her, he'd get a knock from Crash's fist.

"Despite the looks of it, she ain't no pony," Billy spoke slowly despite the blood's hot pound through his ears. "So whatever plans you got made—"

Amerigo dropped a hand to Billy's shoulder.

"Do not misunderstand, friend."

Crash looked at the hand like it was covered in lice. Amerigo removed it. He was a smart man.

"I do not seek the girl's comforting services. I've not lost my match yet, have I?"

Amerigo chuckled. If he meant to loose the iron plates of Crash's jaw, he failed.

"You and the girl. You two are…?"

"Yeah."

Amerigo cleared his throat.

"I was not finished."

Crash's flattened his lips. His silence invited no further inquiry.

Lifting his mug, Billy decided to ignore Amerigo. The man got a real kick of posing them sorts of questions, didn't he?

Is Yvette good at sex. Huh. Billy had a better question. _What sex?_

Crash tensed as frustrations stirred in his loins. He hadn't even got his mouth on her yet, let alone could he say if she was good at sex. Although he could bet anything involving Yvette's bare and sweaty body on his would be good.

The other night mighta been a chance. When he palmed her rear, she let loose a moan that got him hard on the instant. Badly he wished to pull that small, rounded bottom against his hips. Rock himself against her and see how receptive she was then. But from her panicked reaction at mere mentions of anything more, Crash didn't think her ready for that.

And even though he ached every moment he held her close, he'd reined the urge to take things further. Crash scratched his ear. If the boys only knew of the blue bollocks he willfully endured; there'd be cackles, slaps to the back of his head, followed by genuine confusion.

_Who lies with a nigger without fuckin 'um? _

No whites Billy knew. When it came to the Negros, few of them showed restraint. They took a nigga gal whenever the urge hit. Young or mature, didn't matter. Give 'um a bush, shed, or deep in the sugar stocks, and they'd do their deed.

Crash wasn't into the business.

And wasn't gonna get into it now. He didn't want Yvette for the tossin and leaving. More like for the holdin…keeping. If handling his needs the loner's way was gonna keep him from taking her body too soon, he would stick to it. Hardly mattered if it looked weak or not.

Besides, what he did or didn't do with Yvette was between him and her. More or less Calvin… and certainly not Amerigo.

Crash darted a glance his way. The Italian sat quietly, sipping his mead and returning Billy's eye. Amerigo had started to say something, but Crash had cut him off.

What the hell, Billy thought. The burn out of his system, perhaps he could hear the man without setting fire to his lungs.

"You."

The bartender, circling a dishcloth around an empty glass, lifted his head.

"Yes, Mista Crash?" he said, voice flat as his eyes.

Crash didn't believe the disinterest. Negros listened close to Whites conversations. Wasn't no coincidence the last batch of runaways took off the same night work hands had talked of hittin the saloons.

Billy chucked his chin towards the door.

"Out."

The bartender set down his things and shuffled away. The doors snapping behind him, it was just Billy and Amerigo.

"If you got somethin else to say," Billy shifted to face him directly, "Go on and say it."

Elbows set to knees, Amerigo turned as well.

"Will you allow me to finish this time?"

After a beat, Crash answered "sure."

He could try for calm. Calm meaning not decking him without good reason.

Amerigo drew his mug aside.

"Good good. Now, perhaps I crossed my boundaries to ask of your…carnal activities. I only allude to the connection you and the lovely signora displayed at dinner. From how well she respond to you, one can't help imagining the pleasure she brings in quieter quarters?"

Heat crept down Billy's neck and consumed his chest. The pleasure she could bring. Damn right he'd imagined it.

During dry attempts at sleep the other night, he'd wondered; how much would it have hurt? To take Yvette's hand and draw it back between their bodies. Lay it against his member. He wouldn't have her do anything beyond that. She could take her hand away or, well, take things farther...firmer.

Though one of Amerigo's words struck him.

"Respond," Crash repeated.

Amerigo placed clasped hands on the bar, white gloves stark against brown surface.

"Why yes. She responds quite well to you."

"What you mean?" he asked, positioned straighter.

Amerigo pursed his lips.

"The girl and yourself. It is like you two… are in accordance. When you move forward, she draw back. When you take breath, she hold hers. Do not think I was blind to your interactions."

Billy's stomach went soft as if he'd eaten a cozy meal. Yvette responded to him like _that_? He sure as hell didn't notice.

As if to study Billy, Amerigo set a fist under his chin.

"Surely you were aware of this."

Crash threw down his gaze, not wishing to betray the lengths of his feelings.

All this time, he felt like he was grabbling semi-solid air with her, never real sure how she felt. Then he finally asked only to have her fall asleep. Perhaps what Vessepi just relayed _was_ that answer.

Amerigo fingered the rim of his glass.

"This sort of match must be rare as Greenville snow. Truly, for one to find a slave who aligns with her master as she to you? I envy it, Crash."

Amerigo went back to drinking, while Crash's jaw went slack. The man's glass was clear before Billy spoke again.

"We on separate understandings," he said. "I ain't no master."

Amerigo's brows disappeared into his hat.

"No?" he asked. "The girl is not yours?"

Crash looked to his boots.

"She ain't."

A truth actively ignored, Yvette belonged to Calvin. Crash didn't like it, but had no choice but to stand it.

"I was certain you purchased this girl off of Calvin," Amerigo said, "All these years watching him with Sheba, a man is bound to want a wench for his own pleasures. Yes?"

Billy took his mug in both hands, peering into the brew. He wasn't even gonna answer that.

"What is her cost?" Amerigo asked.

Crash's eyelid twitched like it was fighting dust.

"The girl ain't for sale."

Amerigo had best keep his billfolds in his pocket or Crash would give him somethin to fold about. He thought to snatch Yvette right from under his fingers?

"Again, you mistake curiosity for intent." Amerigo unfolded his hands. "With her easy looks and French talent, I assume she was a plentiful buy. I am right?"

Crash hesitated.

Well, might as well fess to her cost. Not like Vessepi couldn't go ask Calvin. In fact the snoop jus might, and he didn't need Calvin even knowing this conversation happened.

"Twelve," Billy said, lips hardly moving.

Amerigo nodded.

"Twelve hundred is worthy cost."

Billy's chuckle was dry. Twelve hundred. If Candie was sellin, which he wouldn't, that price wouldn't be so throat slitting. In truth, Yvette's price was throat-slittin _and_ back-breaking.

"Twelve thousand." Crash amended.

Blinking, Amerigo mumbled the numbers to himself.

"Well." He gave Crash a slow appraisal. From the mud-dried boot tips to the hat on his head. "No wonder you cannot afford her."

Billy went stiff. Cheeks flamed.

"And you can, huh." He rolled an eye over the man. Black wool coat on a well-eating frame. Dark boots shining like a nigger back. The sour grapes coated his tongue and tasted bitter as ever. "'Course you could."

Amerigo shrugged his heavy shoulders.

"You perplex me, Billy Crash."

"Oh?" Though his voice was sharp, his eyes were fogged with distance.

"Considering cost, it makes sense to covet your purchase so jealously. However this…Yvette. She is not yours. Yet you protect the mere colored girl as I've seen men their wives. Why is this?"

Crash's turned to wood. Hard through and down but ready to snap at the right pressure. He owed no explanation. Wasn't gonna explain shit to him.

So maybe Crash was dreaming when he secretly claimed her as his woman. He'd told himself he chose her, wanted her, but perhaps, the rest _did_ matter.

Like the fact that Yvette was Calvin's slave. A Negro slave. Who was not free.

And with a price so hefty, Crash couldn't even afford to think of affording her.

When Crash still said nothing, Amerigo Vessepi smirked.

"Oh," he said. "It_ must_ be sex then."

The wood splayed and Billy snapped. Launching off his seat, it flipped and almost caught Amerigo's feet if they hadn't flinched. Billy kicked the stool aside.

"You should stick to losin' Dingo fights." He caught the front of Amerigo's collar and bunched it in his fist. "Thrust that Italian nose of yours into someone else's business."

Vessepi's throat bounded with a thick swallow.

"You are a good man," Vessepi ground out. "I only try to help straighten your priorities."

Crash hooked him with a look that'd melt the skin off small game.

"What the hell you know about my priorities?"

"I know enough now." Amerigo spoke fast, a sweat build at his forehead. "You forget this colored girl is no more than flesh. Appealing fresh, mind you, but to enjoy with boundaries. You could learn from your superior; Calvin knows how to desire Negro women properly. But you, Crash, are losing sight."

Crash's fist went slack, and Amerigo slid out from under it.

"Your attachment—"

"Is not your business."

"Your attachment," Amerigo continued. He pushed up from his seat and kept an eye on Billy's fist. "It is not only taboo—"

"Okay—"

"But dangerous. And I don't just mean for you."

Billy took a step forward and Amerigo slid one back.

"You oughta leave." Billy kept coming till he forced Amerigo to hit wall. "Now."

"Do not anger," Amerigo said, hand raised. "I said my words. I'll make my leave."

Billy stopped in the midst of the room as the Italian fumbled toward the door. Struggling with the knob, he nearly fell through when it opened and Rosko stood in the doorway.

"Suh?"

Amerigo glanced over his shoulder, eying Billy with rounded eyes.

"Watch your step," He said. "I'd hate to see a good man fall."

With that, he tipped his hat and left, shoving Rosko in his haste.

Crash stood staring at the not-so-empty doorway, what with the bartender hovering there. When the negro moved inside, Crash was left to stare at the gold halls, red rugs, empty air.

As Amerigo's words rang through his head.

It wasn't right, was it? These affections he felt...for a negro.

Billy gave a rough shake.

No.

The hell with Amerigo, the hell with Calvin, and the hell with Greenville, Mississippi. Crash would do, see, and feel what he wanted. And if that was a negro girl he had no right to do, see, or feel… that was just fine. When Crash looked at her, he didn't just see a negro. He saw a woman.

A negro woman he wanted.

Billy trod toward the bar, where Rosko adjusted the knocked stools back in place.

"I got it," Billy said, righting a chair and sliding in. He slouched forward, elbows heavy on the counter. Removing his hat, Crash pushed his hands through his hair, damp with sweat and sticking to his forehead.

"Sorry, Suh."

Crash looked up to the man fiddling with his bowtie. He narrowed his eyes.

"What you sorry for?" He murmured. "Gimme another mead."

Rosko nodded and set off behind the bar.

Crash pushed out a sigh, eyes set on Rosko's maneuvers. It served as a temporary distraction to the pound of his blood, the boiling heat that wouldn't let down.

A rage still seized him. Clung tight against his chest, closer than the muscles at his ribcage. His neck felt corded and he'd need a hammer to knead the knots from his back.

"Hmm." Crash seized his replenished mug. A quick swig had the lungs burning and the brain fuzzy at once. Setting down the mug, Crash rubbed his dry eyes.

Under the layers of rage was something else. Something he couldn't quite identity. Either way, he didn't like it there. Billy could handle rage. Rage was familiar.

This other emotion was foreign, rounding his stomach with a sluggish, exhausted feeling.

He didn't like it one bit.

* * *

Dining with Coco caused a drastic plunge in appetite. That is, for the girl fidgeting across from her. Guests scoffed sweet dish after dish without a pause in fork or sentence. Meanwhile, Yvette Belisle inhaled vanilla custard spice and eyed glossy chocolate cakes, unable to touch a slice.

She thanked the stones in her stomach for that.

And the one who set them there.

Coco didn't just scoff down her Boston cream: she murdered it. Surely those triple layers weren't that thick, requiring a grunt whenever the fork went charging down. And surely it wasn't necessary for her to glare across the table as she forked and chomped each piece, eying Yvette as if to say _I wish you were this pie_.

Like a prick to her actual flesh, Yvette squirmed from each of Coco's stabs. Perhaps that's why she'd lost her appetite. Eating herself lacked appeal.

"We…washed a lot of petticoats today," Yvette tried, another attempt at conversation. One sure to be met with a—

"Ha."

This is how the hour ends. Not with a grunt, but a _ha_. Yvette should've known to give up, and yet she couldn't. Pleating the tablecloth's edge between her fingers, she tried again.

"I heard Ms. Lara is visiting with friends in town. Returning Monday, was it?"

"Ha."

Now that didn't even make sense. Coco was going to need a new sound.

Yvette paused for a while, a much different approach in mind. One that she'd circled around for long enough. Time to be direct.

"I didn't come onto him or anything."

Coco's fork clanged to the table.

"I didn't ask for no answers." Lips slim, Coco pushed away her dish.

Yvette moved hers away too, untouched as it was.

"Well, I'm offering some."

Yvette took on Coco's stare and refused to show a break in nerves. Even when Coco's eyes fell so low her lashes twitched against her cheeks.

Taking on this Billy issue was worth the stones in the stomach. Coco took care of Yvette when she'd fallen out under the Mississippi heat. Instructed her on how to please Monsieur Candie. Showed her how to maneuver the Candieland ropes without getting tangled up in them.

So Yvette would be clean and bare with her. Explain in a gentle way that she might have a thing for Billy. _With_ Billy. Shouldn't be too hard…

"As I was saying…"

Coco held out a hand.

"Spare your breaths. I already know you got lovely dovey eyes for him all day."

Yvette quieted. Her dress suddenly felt constricting, and she dipped a finger in her collar.

"Well," she said eventually. "Some parts of the day."

That was truth. Sometimes she switched her "lovey dovey" eyes to Calvin.

Yvette flicked a glance down the table then. Nothing new down there; Calvin wolfing his cake with bare claws. An eye-rolling Sheba breaking off her pieces delicately. The rest of the table speaking over each other as they ate.

When Yvette dragged focus back to Coco, the girl's eyes were lit, but not exactly with stars.

"Some parts of the day. Like at _night_, I assume?"

"…What do you mean by that?" Yvette asked. Her brow bent with suspicion.

"What I mean, _Yvette_, is just cuz you stay in Brunhilde old cabin don't mean you gotta take her job."

Yvette had a moment on confusion till she remembered who Brunhilde was. A piercing feeling stabbed her belly.

"I have _not_," Yvette said, "Taken her job."

Coco giggled, though it didn't sound sweet.

"So Billy your only visitor? Gee. You ain't no good comfort girl at all."

The prickle spread to Yvette's chest and irritated her entire body. These implications were crooked and it was time to set them straight.

"Listen here," Yvette said, jabbing a finger across the table and keeping her voice intimate so not to attract attention. "I am not a comfort girl. Not _his_ and not anyone else's."

"I see," Coco said, the slim smile back. "You're just a hussy then. Coulda fooled me with that white puffy bag you insisted on wearing 'stead of my selection. But you know what they say. Loose clothes hide a loose woman."

If Yvette wasn't busy with that hussy comment, she'd had time to feel hurt over yet another jab at her appearance. Instead, she was too preoccupied with her rushed breathing, the twitching hands.

Yvette's forehead throbbed with pain. She wished to yell at her, shake her, make her take back those words. Instead, Yvette unfurled her hands and slowly drew them to her lap. Her elevated pulse did not slow, though, nor did the thoughts cutting through her head.

So it'd come to this. Low jabs, and the desire to jab.

The blood hit her ears, stark retorts waiting on her tongue, but when Yvette looked Coco in the eye, she simply said "Enjoy your dessert."

Coco studied her. She seemed to search for a falsehood, the tag line, but Yvette didn't have one. Sitting upright, she backed out her chair and stood.

Mama Belisle always said fire on fire made a bigger blaze, and vengeance was best got by success.

Well, Yvette knew how to put out a fire and succeed at the same time. And it required Billy Crash. If Coco thought her loose, let her see Yvette loose herself on _him_.

Yvette was gonna find that Billy Crash, get him back there, and flirt up a storm. It bent Mama's philosophy, but justified another piece of motherly advice.

_Don't be nobody's foot rug._

After pressing her "white bag" flat to her legs, Yvette started towards the doors. Two server males set before the doorway shot her questioning looks.

"Restroom," Yvette murmured, looking off as she lied.

Not going off to find my white _boyfriend_ at all.

The men looked at each other, shrugged, then opened the doors.

Yvette was past the threshold when a shout froze her in place.

"He-hey!"

Her head whipped back as Calvin jumped up and out of his seat, Sheba one beat after. Yvette feared Calvin would call to her. Instead he addressed the room, arms in a flurry.

"Lick up them plates and head on ova to the ballroom. I gotta taste for some dancing." He grinned and winked, earning a rumble of chuckles.

It appeared no one wished to lick their plates as the room set in noisy motion. As people started towards the door, Yvette's stomach flipped. The crowd overcame her, knocking against and around her as they hustled out of the dinette. Yvette tried to slide out the way, but inevitably was just that: in the way. Feeling trapped, she was caught in a half twirl, half scuttle as she moved through the wave of bodies. It was like the people multiplied; coming at all sides, a bunch of nameless, grinning faces.

Eyes darting, Yvette gnawed the edge of a nail, ready to give into the crowd's direction. Then just as she'd turned a form bumped her from behind. Knees flexing, Yvette yelped on a stumble. She didn't stagger far before hands caught her at the waist and hauled her upright.

Before Yvette could turn to see who knocked and caught her, she was moving. Ushered through a quick unnoticed corner till a dim strip of hall replaced the front room's gleam.

"Who… what are you doing?"Yvette asked, steps wavering down the corridor. Glancing down at the arm arresting her, she caught a glimpse of a brown suit cuff. Her heart missed several beats.

"Don't be so surprised," the male voice came close to her ear, and Yvette caught a whiff of sweat and wine. "You knew I'd follow."

Yvette thumped back against the hard form as he suddenly stopped walking. Before her brain processed the spin, he turned her in his arms.

Under the hall's pale chandeliers, Yvette saw Calvin Candie. Face and body inches from her own. A smirk touching his lips.

"Long time…" He started, nails digging into her waist. "No touch."

"Uh-huh." Yvette had more to say. She racked to remember, but like her breaths, thoughts were short and far between.

"Remember my secret," Calvin started asking, hands sliding up and down her waist and making the fabric separating fingers thin as parchment. "'Bout everything but this dress?"

Yvette's heart leapt to her throat. Oh. She remembered what she meant to say. Just couldn't speak over her blocked passageway.

Her hips tensed when Calvin gripped them.

"M-Monsieur…" Yvette could hardly talk over her weak breaths. "You have… guests. We're in a hall…"

She glanced the way they'd come. Light further back, but the room empty. She glanced down the other way. Nothing but the end of a hall and doors.

Alone.

Calvin smiled.

Yvette swallowed.

Hands left her hips to arrest her hand as Calvin hustled them down the hall. They turned a corner and with each step down the new path, the chandeliers grew sparser and the shadows thicker.

When Yvette pulled for her hand, Calvin's downy fingers caught hers tighter.

"You been evadin' me all week," he said, pausing outside a door. "Don't think I'll let you go now."

"I haven't…_evaded_ you," Yvette said on loose breath. For one, whenever Calvin approached her, Sheba appeared. Yvette was surprised she hadn't there now. And afraid when she would.

Free hand paused on the doorknob, he looked at her down his shoulder. Then it was his handsomeness that had her breathless. The sharp brows on warm skin, touched by weak light. The beard artfully shaped around downturned lips.

"Really," he said. "So you didn't dodge my mouth the other day."

Yvette chewed on her cheek. Well, there'd been that. Twisting the doorknob, Calvin nudged it wide. Yvette's nerves spikes as he worked against her resistance to pull her in. Then he halted his effort and Yvette slammed against his side, ache shocking her arm.

She glared but was soon sidetracked. Distracted by the noises.

Yvette looked into the room.

Sucking in breath, Yvette couldn't quite grasp the actions before her. A pale backside gleamed with sweat. Brown fingers clutched around it for dear life. A bucking bed and rhythmic bump and rise under the blankets. The bed whined as the figures within it moaned and grunted.

Sense came to her in slow pieces. _Oh. _That.

Yvette shuffled back and expected Calvin to follow, but when the sounds weren't cut off by a closing door, she looked at him.

Calvin watched steadily ahead. Eyes gleaming, mouth slack, a bit of wetness at his lip. His grip seizing hers was loose, and Yvette took her hand back. Calvin blinked, dropped his eyes to Yvette then back to the bedroom scene. He shook his head and pulled the door shut. Yvette released her breath, a tremble touching her back.

Her thoughts dispersed when Calvin gripped her shoulders and yanked her close. She winced from her bruised shoulder but that pain was soon replaced as her head thudded against the wall.

Yvette set a hand to her chest, looked up at the man set above her. Calvin was so rough in his actions, catching her off guard, that all she could do was stare and breathe. Back flat against the wall, heart at battle with her chest, and alone with a white man. Again. Yvette wondered how much hot water she could fall into before it started to boil.

When Calvin looked down at her, she felt trapped under his eyes, red-rimmed as they were. Was he angry? Just drunk? His breathing harsh and gaze still steady, his hands slid from the shoulders and down the sides of her body.

"That was a bit of fun to watch, huh?" His chuckles exploded in short bursts, flattened out, then burst again.

"Fun," Yvette said on shaky breath, trying to soften her trembles as he continued to glide hands up and down her waist.

His next laugh was short.

"Well I want some fun too."

His face approached and Yvette's toes curled as breath brushed her throat. She pressed deeper against the wall, fingernails scratching the surface.

"You so nervous." Calvin said, voice fanning her cheek. He tucked a coiled lock behind her ear. "I like nervous."

Yvette did her best to keep still as Calvin rowed his fingers from her scalp to the nape. Her breaths deepened when his rows became sensitive. Funny. Billy's hands were in her hair the previous hour, doing similar things to her head and heartbeat…

Then she felt a shift in Calvin's strokes. Struck with impatience, he pushed the remaining curls to her shoulder to reveal a silver of neck.

"All this jungle hair," he murmured.

Yvette hadn't time for offense when Candie licked his lips, his hooded eyes zoned in on the spot where her pulse fought beneath skin.

"Hmm," Calvin said. "This _will_ be fun."

Yvette's eyes fluttered low as Calvin's breath touched her throat again. Hand still in her hair, he craned her neck higher.

"Monsieur…" Yvette started, sensing his intents.

He ignored her to place his lips against the fluttering pulse. Yvette's heart lurched from the touch as she murmured his title again, only to have it come out gargled as more kisses met her pulse before dragging alongside her neck.

Yvette gasped as tongue joined lips, darting against excited skin. Then he increased the pressure of his mouth, suckling as he kissed her and lingering on spots with firmer pushes of the lips. Yvette's breaths took an uncontrollable tune and she feared leaving scratches at the wall as her nails scraped the surface. She whined as sensations ripened through her body.

Calvin groaned and suckled deep. Yvette flinched from his mouth.

"No," Calvin grumbled against her throat. He firmed a hand on her waist, the other arm bordering the wall beside her.

Yvette's expression twisted, now more afraid of those lips than pleased. She feared they'd roughen again, bring her pain. As expected they soon did, this time his suckling so hard she cried out, pushing against his chest.

"Monsieur!"

With hesitation, Calvin pulled back, just enough for his eyes to level onto hers.

"What?" he asked, dropping the arm he'd entrapped her under.

Yvette let her own drop and net her hands.

She didn't know how much she could resist without him punishing her disobedience. Part of her wasn't sure if she wanted to. But it was that bit of pain that lent her the backbone to put up barriers.

"Please don't…bite me."

Calvin's face blanked, then after a beat he chortled.

"Bite you?" he said. "I didn't bite you."

Yvette placed a hand over her neck, brows lowering.

"Well, whatever you did hurt."

Calvin shrugged.

"Understandable." He stared at her exposed neck with serious intent. "I'll just work on you longer."

Calvin descended upon her again, lips and tongue greeting her neck in drawn out kisses and suckling.

Yvette quivered under his mouth, fighting against the pain and feeding off pleasure. Her neck felt touched by flames under the hungry lips. At the same time, shamed heat burned her skin.

This was betrayal.

No matter unsettled their tie was, Yvette had commitments to Billy. The one who'd _saved_ her from the man necking her.

Surely he wouldn't appreciate this.

And how could _she?_ With all those drinks, Calvin wasn't in his right mind. Did he even know what he was doing?

"Why… do you do this?" Yvette asked, not too clear-headed herself. She just couldn't get use to the feel of his tongue on her flesh, lips visiting her skin.

When Calvin drew away from her neck, Yvette timidly stroked the wet spot he'd left. Calvin observed her with a high chin.

"Yous a right shade of brown," he said. "Marks will show on you."

Yvette's breath went weak as Calvin dragged her sleeve down her shoulder. She stiffened as he observed the mark there. A reddening imprint from the hands that'd grabbed her in Johnston's General.

Calvin nodded.

"Mm-hmm," He said, giving a crisp nod, eyes back on her throat. "This gonna be a nice ole bruise on your neck tomorrow. Lika good ole siren."

Calvin's fingers pressed deep on her bruised shoulder. Still tender, she flinched and he smirked.

Yvette sank back as if the wall could absorb her. Did he take pleasure in hurting her? The thought made her stomach flinch.

"I don't even understand that." Guarding her sensitive shoulder with a hand, she righted the sleeve. "What siren?"

Calvin shook his head.

"It's not for you to get," He said, smile slim. "But Billy; oh he'll get it, alright."

It was that smile that drained the warmth from her bones.

So Calvin's actions were... mapped? Just another ploy to get at Billy. Her eyes narrowed. She resented being a ragdoll between them. Were her emotions just some kind of plaything too?

Well, Calvin could go find another woman to nibble on. She was a slave, not a chew toy.

With set to her shoulders, she looked him on square.

"If you'll excuse me Monsieur." She gave a bad excuse for a curtsy then tried to move on past him. She didn't get far before the hand seized her wrist.

"Excuse you…?" Calvin hauled her back with ease, looking down at her with trembling impatience.

He wasn't supposed to be this intense, those eyes not meant to look so dark and alive.

"T-to the restroom?" Well, it worked before. It could work again.

Hands now bordering her waist, Calvin gave his head a curt shake.

"You don't sound so sure about that."

Irritation pricked Yvette's nerves as she turned her face away.

"What do you know?" She grumbled under breath. "You're drunk."

Calvin towed her forward, and she found herself stopped inches from his body.

"Aint that drunk," Candie mumbled.

_Oops. _

Yvette bit hard on her lip. Punishment for her big mouth.

"I…didn't say drunk. I meant... "

A laughed burst from Calvin's lips before Yvette sought a good word.

"Don't worry bout it, dollface. I am verily drunk. I embrace it." Calvin clenched the hands on Yvette dress. "Lucky for us, it's never ruined my performance."

Calvin erased the last inches between them and Yvette gasped at the firm contact against her thigh. She'd gotten familiar with firm things over the past few days. Knew just what this was.

Her vision filled with pale lips and rough chin as Calvin moved in. Nose bumping hers, he chuckled a little before angling his head. Yvette inhaled through nerve-clinched teeth, heart throbbing hard.

Calvin's lips grazed her chin, kissing there before moving up to kiss the spot beneath her lip.

Yvette was losing her senses, couldn't say any words besides his title, hands fisted in his suit and not knowing whether to push him away or draw him closer, closer than he already was with his body flush to her own.

Calvin dipped his knee between her dress. Her legs separated and she felt a pound between them.

"M-Monsieur…"

Calvin tapped a finger to her lips.

"Ssshhh…"

His eyes were startlingly bright under the muted hall lighting. She couldn't help her tremors and felt a torturous desire twist through her body. She whimpered, squirming against the knee set between her.

She didn't know what she wanted, only that she wanted more of it.

Pulling the finger back, Calvin read her expression.

"Already need me bad. Don't cha." He brought his lips in line with hers. "Well I can guarantee, whatever I give will be tenfold better than what he gave you last night."

Yvette hadn't the time to react as Calvin's lips hit hers, taking her breath as his. He tasted of hot sugar and alcohol. She became a statue, eyes wide on Calvin's face as he kissed her in a wild and starved way. Then his knee drew up higher and nudged her center and Yvette's moan rose like an uncontrollable force, her eyes falling shut.

"Give me more," Calvin groaned at her lips. His knee dropped as he pressed his legs flush to hers, the hardness back and causing a gasp. At the gasp her lips widened and Calvin murmured_ that's right_ onto her mouth. He drew a hand down her waist then roamed to the front of her. Yvette's belly recoiled at the touch, but then the hand changed paths and drew up higher, stopping between her raising breasts.

Yvette's heart pounded near his palm, then took on flight when his hand grasped her breast and thumbed the peak that bloomed against the material. Yvette could no longer be still. She shoved her lips back at Calvin, her hands reaching for something to latch into and finding his waistband.

He seemed to sigh against her mouth and both his hands set to her breasts and grasped them roughly. Yvette made a weak noise, lips pushing and pulling back, tasting his wine and sugar and heat.

Her guilt was too far back to reach the pleasure exploding in her head, flooding all else.

Candie started stroking her breasts with the flats of his hands, his touch chafing her peaks against the layered material. Stomach clenched at competing pleasure-pain, Yvette seized his wrists.

"Monsieur. C-Calvin…"

Curling fingers, Calvin thumbed her buds again, pinching them hard. Her breaths went harsher as an ache built between her legs. She didn't let go of his wrist as his touches softened her knees.

"P-please," Yvette panted between quick kisses at her lips.

"Please what," Calvin mumbled, breath harsh on her mouth.

"I...I dunno."

Yvette couldn't take it anymore. The ache was flowering in her at a rapid pace. It started between her legs and bloomed upward, cramping her stomach, drawing a quiver to her thighs.

"Now you know my taste is better," Calvin said, slowing his kisses to deep sucks at her lower lip, his hands drawing down from the breasts, past the waist, then bundling in her skirts. "You see what you miss when you lie with the _dogs_?"

Yvette didn't understand him, but his words tried to drain her excitement. She wish he'd stop making her think.

But since she didn't feel _shut up_ was appropriate, she held onto his lip when he came back to kiss it. He seemed to like that, for his groan hit her ears in a small explosion of sound. Monsieur Candie's hands moved like rapid fire down her dress and bunched the material. A hand rubbing her inner thigh, Yvette shook from the spine to toes. He'd touched her legs in the carriage, but never bare. Never that close to what waited inches away.

His fingers drew clumsy circles across her inner thigh, his lips leaving her lips to suck at her neck again.

"I don't usually enjoy second servings," he said, shoving up her short-riding bloomers. "But you my exception for a lot of things."

There it was... words again.

"I haven't a clue what you mean."

Calvin's fingers paused at her undergarments, the lips stopped their suckling. Pulling away on hard breath, Candie's eyes were sharp on her face.

"You might be cute, but don't act cute. I don't need those lies right now."

Yvette's brow furrowed, her breath mere paths.

"I'm not lying. I don't understand what you're talking about."

The temperament on Calvin's face changed.

"Was he that forgettable or am I just that good?" Calvin paused to chuckle. "I reckon a bitta both."

Yvette had heard enough to grasp a thread of this talk. This was something Billy related. And perhaps, something he assumed happened between her and Billy.

Gathering a long breath, Yvette slid from the wall and took some steps away from Candie, deeper down the dim hall.

"I…" Yvette ran a hand over her neck. Calvin had said he'd make a bruise there. Well her neck already ached at the spots where he'd sucked with force. "I've never done these things before."

Snorting, Calvin met her backing steps.

"What I say about those tales? From what I saw last night, this ain't been no first experience."

Yvette set her feet.

"But…this is…_would_ be."

Calvin watched her with a cool eye before he took a step toward her. It looked loose, and his hand slapped the wall. So now he wanted to get unsteady? She hoped he didn't fall on her like in the Mandingo room. Her body still felt soft from whatever she'd near reached moments ago. If he fell on her, she'd have to fall with him.

"Look," Calvin said, getting a little loud. "From here on out, you tell the truth. Continue to fib and I'll bruise more than your neck, you hear?"

Yvette's stomach plummeted. Things were taking a dangerous turn. Calvin didn't look so friendly, his eyes dark blues, unfocused, and skimming over face to the body with savagery.

Yvette backed up more as Calvin came closer. When her back met wall she jolted straight. Well just favorable. Calvin closed in on her then, fisting Yvette's sleeve. A tear ripped the air and remorse collided with fear. Yvette liked this dress. She also liked not having more bruises.

"Now," Calvin said, closing in on her face. "I wants the truth from you. And before you try to get tricky, I know you was with him. I watched Crash crawl through sugarcanes then crawl back out _my_ house half naked. Everything that happen on and _with_ my property, I see. Ain't no secrets at Candieland."

Yvette was stuck on certain words.

"Half naked?"

She did not recall nakedness when Billy left her. She didn't recall nakedness _with_ him.

Calvin let her go long enough to bat his hand.

"No shoes, half naked. Either way, ya'll was up to something. Right, Jungle Head?" Candie fisted her hair and Yvette whined at the force. His mouth swallowed the sound as he caught her lips in a kiss. Each time his lips pulled from hers, they hit again in a crush, demanding as they pushed at hers, tongue thrusting past her teeth.

Yvette's chest tightened at his kisses. She disliked this kiss. It was brutal, sore, and hungry not for her taste, but for her submission.

Well, she was his slave. That was enough submission for him.

Made bold by pain and affront, Yvette sank her nails into his shoulders. Calvin groaned, kissing her harder. Yvette dug her nails in again and this time Calvin flinched and pulled back.

He thrust a hand through his hair so the long strands flattened against his scalp.

"What you do to me. Huh, little girl? Got me worked like this. Drunk like this." His rim-rimmed eyes looked aggravated, the pupils dilated. "More important, what does_ he_ got _on_ me? Billy ain't bad lookin, but damn; he ain't shit. Where he dirt poor, I'm black oil rich. "

"I don't like what you're saying," Yvette said with hot eyes. Talk of Billy was back, bringing not just guilt but her defenses. Calvin didn't need to insult him like that.

He laughed.

"The man got nothing but what? Some worn jeans, a horse, ole hats? Let's not forget a farm back out that could fit into just the back pocket of Candieland. Is that the master you want? You wanna be Crash's nigger now?"

Yvette's jaw muscles twitched over her dimple.

"I don't wanna be nobody's_ nigger_." The backs of her eyes burned as she looked him on without a flinch.

Calvin's returned the glare and she had to trap teeth at her tongue to hold in her sharp words.

"Well, you're my nigger," Calvin said, speaking right to her face. "And nothings gonna change that."

He grabbed hold of her dress collar and the material strained against her throat, even tighter than her narrow uniform's neckline. Yvette had to pant to breathe but Calvin didn't noticed or care, focus on her face.

"I dunno what it's about you that drive white men mad. How'd you teach an old dog like Billy a new trick? Dressin' good and shaven clean. Actually givin a shit bout anybody else. Tell me."

Calvin shook Yvette and her fists clenched against the strain on her throat. She itched to strike him but knew that'd mean more pain.

"What you got on that boy. What this got to do with you?"

"You gotta question bout us, you ask me."

Yvette's gaze darted up, her pulse quickened in the instant. She hadn't seen him come or heard an approach, but there he was. Billy Crash.

Billy loomed over Calvin, a dark glare angled at his back.

Calvin went terse and in his tensing, squeezed the material in his fist. Yvette made a noise as the fabric clutched her neck. The noise snapped Billy's gaze to Calvin's clutching fist, eyes aflame.

"Drop her." His teeth snapped on his words.

He didn't wait for Calvin and grabbed hold of his arm and tugged it back.

"Don't you touch me," Calvin hissed. He swung a fist, missed, and staggered. Calvin bumped the wall before he slipped on his knees, cursing hotly. Billy looked down his boots at him then shook his head.

Yvette held her throat and coughed to her wrist. By the time she silenced herself, Billy stood above her.

"You fine?"

The moment he touched her, a light hand brushing Yvette's shoulder, a zip of panic ran through her body.

"How'd you find me?" she asked.

Billy studied her hard, and she feared what he saw. The color eaten off swollen lips? The messy hair sloping off shoulders? The skirts turned out of place?

"Sheba said Calvin was missing, so I went lookin. Then I heard my name and the aggravating voice it rode on."

Yvette lowered her eyes to Calvin's cursing and kneeling on the floor, then raised them back to Billy. She expected him to turn away from her any minute, remove the soft clasp he had on her shoulder. Instead, she got eyes, softening at the corners.

"You didn't answer my question," he said. "You fine?"

Yvette smoothed her skirts with unstable hands.

"A little."

She bit on a grimace. Why was he being her Nice Guy? He had to know what went on before the yelling...

"Woah woah wait!"

Yvette glanced over as Candie pulled to his feet.

Billy made a low noise.

"Ain't nothin to wait for," He said, pulling Yvette with him. "But I do know you need to lie down."

Calvin got closer, weak on his feet and a hand out for balance.

"I was workin up to the lying down. Till you interrupted."

Billy's jaw clenched, but he said nothing.

Calvin scratched at his head.

"Where Sheba?" His head switched down the hall then hit Crash again. "Send the hound to sniff me out, eh?"

"Never mind how I found ya. How many drinks you dunk? You know not to handle that strong stuff."

Calvin cupped his chin, looking darkly amused.

"Ah. So the hound givin' orders to the master. That'll be the day Mississippi niggers given freedom."

Calvin pinned Yvette with a look that made her shrink back. Billy caught her before she moved too far and tucked her under his arm.

Calvin watched with flinty eyes, shoulders spiked to his ears. He stalked closer to them and Billy released Yvette to put her behind him. Yvette's ears burned, and she left his coverage to stand a few steps over. She didn't deserve this protection. Didn't he know what she'd done?

Calvin chucked his head.

"From now on, Billy boy, if you want her, you gotta pay like everyone else. You know the rates. One hundred for a jerk. Two hundred for a lick. Five hundred for a fuck. Which one of those figures you already owe me?"

A heat touched Yvette's neck and face, and a similar affliction took over Billy's face, a flushing bright on his skin.

"I don't owe you nothin," He muttered. Billy glanced at Yvette then turned away real fast.

Calvin shook his head, the hair long loose of its style.

"Ya know, if I ain't known you for so long, I'd discharge your ass for lying. But since you're almost a brother, I'm just gon' knock out your lights."

With one thrust of his sleeves, Calvin barreled forward. Yvette slipped back as Calvin's head barged into Billy's chest and threw them both against the wall. There was a mutual _oof_ sound as the men hit the floor.

"You damned fucker," Billy hissed as he shoved Candie off him. Billy clutched his shirt in a fist, eyes tight.

Breathing rushed, Yvette hurried to where they lay, not knowing who to help, where to touch, what to do.

"Are you…?"

"You stay back." Billy said, palm out.

She stopped in place, throat thick with guilt. She made a mess and didn't know how to clean it.

Fingers slapping the floorboards, Calvin gathered up on his knees. Rubbing his head in rough strokes, he glowered at Crash.

"Damn," he spat. "Your chest feel like hell."

"It's called fitness." Billy looked to stand, but winced and plopped back down. "Maybe you should try it. Take that fluff off your gut."

Calvin really spat this time and the spittle landed near Yvette's shoe. Sickness lurched in her chest and she stepped away.

"I'll give your gut a fluff."

Yvette panicked again.

"Please stop—"

Her hand reached but it was too late as Calvin butt forward again, head out like a charging bull. But Billy came prepared and bent out the way as Calvin's head would have struck him. Instead of hitting Crash, his head smacked the wall. At the thud, Yvette felt a tremble under her heels.

"What the hell is all that noise..."

The door opened from a ways down, a white male and a brown-skinned woman emerging, adjusting their clothes. They gave curious looks to the scene, looked at each other, then set off down the hall without a word.

"Shit," Calvin said, rubbing his noggin. "That hurt a little bit more than hell."

At that his neck lolled, chin sagged to his chest, and all went quiet.

Yvette froze for a full minute, gaping, knees bending and threatening to collapse beneath her.

When she finally found her voice, she looked at Billy, leaning against the wall.

"_Do_ something," she said.

Crash took a moment to answer, but eventually dropped the hand clutching his chest.

"Alright."

Heaving off his knees, Billy approached the fallen man. Yvette's heart was throbbing hard under her fist. She took a breath then moved closer to the men on brisk steps.

"Is he…okay?"

Billy tipped Calvin's chin. The man's eyes were low, expression bland. He brought a thumb at Calvin's throat and waited.

"He…"

"Crash? Calvin? What's going on back there?"

Yvette heard the female voice echo from down the hall, followed by the rap of heels. Wasn't long till Sheba appeared in the dim foyer, saw Calvin sprawled on the floor at Crash's knees. She threw a hand to her mouth.

"My God."

Hustling over, Sheba bent, elbowing Billy away to gather Calvin's head to his lap.

"Calvin." She tapped his face. "Calvin."

Frazzled-eyed, she looked at Billy.

"What the hell happen to him?"

"He'll be fine," Billy said. Dustin off the knees of his jeans, he straightened. "He tried fightin me and ended up fightin off."

Sheba slapped Calvin's face and he grunted, turning his face between her thighs. His breath cracked, then he set off in snores.

All shoulders seemed to lower, held breaths going loose.

"We closing down," Sheba said. "Get these people outta here."

"I'll do my best," Crash said.

He looked at Yvette, standing well away from them now that Sheba showed. How many people could you crowd in an area before the guilt reeked from your skin, smelled up the place like spunk? She didn't want to be sniffed off, hoped it wasn't too late.

Crash looked back to Sheba.

"I'll take care of the club and ya'lls carriage. You take care of Calvin."

"Yeah."

Sheba's eyes strolled up to Yvette, black fires against her still face.

Instead of waiting to get burned, Yvette set herself near Billy, rubbing her wrists. Billy looked at her, nodded, then started away. Yvette followed in line with him and didn't look back, leaving behind the snoring Calvin and fire-eyed Sheba.

At the turn of the corner, Billy's pace fell back. Slow.

What would usually excite Yvette now made her feel light of head and ill. She avoided the staring eyes by keeping her own at their shoes.

But she couldn't avoid the voice.

"And you," Billy said, after a punctuated pause. "I'll take care of you."

Yvette felt his hand bump hers, and she took a breath before opening her palm. Billy slid his rough fingers between her fingers and clutched. The pressure felt warm, meant to give comfort where it wasn't earned.

Yvette hid her face in her shoulder. Feigning shyness, but hiding shame.

* * *

**A/N: ****Update Times**

In light of joining a writer's group, I realize I've spent more time on my fan fictions than original works lately. So, in order to produce fresh material, I need to focus way more on my original stories. For this reason I'm not sure when my next update on this will be.

I might have some T or M one-shots for _Django _and/or "The Walking Dead" out between this next update, however. Make requests if you please!

I do hope I can write this next chapter effectively while still working on my original works, though. Except this story usually takes singular devotion to come out right. I don't know what it is. Perhaps the fact that these characters punch my outline in the gut and do as they please…

Overall, though, my original work will take priority again.

BUT know that Yvette and these smoldering Southern men will not let me abandon this story _whatsoever_, so more to come.

Thanks for reading; you don't know how happy it makes me!

Peace,

~_Yellowspotlight89 _

P.S.

I have a tumblr for my fan fiction, so if you wanna peek into my head there (as I tend to ramble about story stuff and things) or just see what other fics I'm working on, take a look see! Link in the profile.


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